


Precious Cargo *Discontinued: See Last Chapter*

by Harrishawksuperiour



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Accidental Incest, Alexandria's Genesis, Alien Character(s), Anal Sex, And He Can't Deal With A Hangover, Armitage Hux Smokes, Assassins & Hitmen, Attempt at Humor, Awkward Conversations, Awkward First Times, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Kissing, Awkward Sexual Situations, Birthday Sex, Birthday Smut, Bisexual Female Character, Bisexual Poe Dameron, Blow Jobs, Booty Calls, Bounty Hunters, Cock Slut, Colloquial Language, Come Sharing, Come Swallowing, Comfort Food, Commentary, Crime Lords, Crimes & Criminals, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Cultural References, Developing Relationship, Doggy Style, Dom/sub Undertones, Drinking & Talking, Drunken Shenanigans, Drunkenness, Eating, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Face-Fucking, Fast Food, First Order, Fish out of Water, Fucking, Genetic Disorders & Abnormalities, Graphic Description, Hair-pulling, Half-Sibling Incest, Heavy Drinking, Hux Is Vocal In The Sack, Hux Snores, Implied Poe Dameron/Finn, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Incest, Implied/Referenced Torture, Inspired by Music, Late Night Conversations, Lesbian Phasma, Mention of Date Rape, Mos Eisley, One Night Stands, Opposites Attract, Oral Sex, Original Character-centric, Other, POV Bisexual Character, POV Female Character, POV First Person, POV Original Female Character, Painful Sex, Past Relationship(s), Post-Battle of Starkiller Base, Reader-Interactive, Resistance, Resolved Sexual Tension, Rimming, Rough Sex, Sex Toys, Sexual Content, Sexual Experimentation, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Humor, Smuggler Armitage Hux, Space Pirates, Spanking, Strap-Ons, Team as Family, Then Needs a Ciggie, Torture, Vaginal Fingering, Waterboarding, smugglers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-04 04:20:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 65,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6641233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harrishawksuperiour/pseuds/Harrishawksuperiour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when the location of the most sought after bounty in the galaxy just falls into your lap?<br/>You take it and you fucking run with it, son. </p><p>Let me take you on a magical journey through time and space and shitty cantinas. Well, maybe not time. This isn't Doctor fucking Who. </p><p>We're just a lovable bunch of bounty hunters, assassins and smugglers trying to make our way in the galaxy, picking off the competition, one moronic opponent at a time to get the job done and most importantly: Get paid.</p><p>Let me show you what happens when you tangle with the Resistance, the Guavians and the crime lords who run the Corellian trade routes..... Oh, and the General of the First fucking Order. </p><p>Think Guardians of the Galaxy with more swearing and sex and fewer talking racoons.</p><p> </p><p>Nalesse Du Sade, at your service.<br/>E 11 Blaster Rifle, knuckle duster, dagger and pussy.<br/>Sexually frustrated after twelve hours.<br/>I'm not a sex addict......<br/>I think.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Brax

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Unexpected](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5875999) by [Harrishawksuperiour](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harrishawksuperiour/pseuds/Harrishawksuperiour). 



> The Brax. That's Us.  
> Nalesse, Balor, Mort and Draven.  
> Assassins, Smugglers and Bounty Hunters. 
> 
> I've been gifted with what I call the "Perfect Person's Condition" - You might know it as Alexandria's Genesis. A genetic mutation, if you will.  
> Though I'm quite human, I assure you.  
> But with pale skin, purple eyes and dark dark hair (with none below the neck - no shaving!!), it's easy to see why I wouldn't be.  
> My immune system is way up, NEVER get sick and immune to almost everything.  
> I can eat whatever the fuck I want and my weight never seems to change, I keep a banging figure.  
> No periods but I still have to keep on top of the old contraception. Our line of work is no place for kids. In fact, our line of work is no place for half the fucking idiots that do it. I mean you, Tik.  
> To top it all off, the galaxy will have to deal with me for some goddamn time; longer lifespan, baby!
> 
> I might be small but I'll make your ankles bleed.  
> Can I make it through a sentence without cursing? Probably fucking not. 
> 
> This has been your friendly reminder of Alexandria's Genesis.  
> Now you know what I look like.  
> I'll tell you about the others later. 
> 
> Enjoy!  
> Or don't.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nalesse shuts down the Guavians, humiliates Bala Tik and hits on Poe. All in a days work for the biggest bitch in Mos Eisley. But is there a job at the end of it?

Mos Eisley.

 

Easily regarded as one of the worst cantinas on Tatooine. No, hang on, the whole Arkanis system…. Wait…. Fuck it; it is **_THE_** worst cantina in the **entire fucking galaxy**. Not for the faint hearted, son.

 

It hasn’t changed much in thirty years since Luke Skywalker first met Han Solo within its walls; it’s gotten fucking worse if anything. The atmosphere alone is off-putting, as if the next brawl is set on a tight schedule to act as a purposeful distraction to give someone a swift escape (and believe me, it happens; we have a rota. No one’s been killed in a while, we’re due). It’s seedy; it’s crowded, smoky and smelly. The music is piercing, bawdy and deafening; conversation is damn near impossible. But who comes here for fucking conversation? Well, certain _conversations_ can only be had in this godsforsaken place. The vast majority of the unsavories that frequent Mos Eisley come for those conversations; the trades, the deals and probably the exchange of units for…. favours of the flesh. I mean….. Not me personally but y’know….. Whatevs.

 

Good auld Obi Wan couldn’t have described it better when he called it a “wretched hive of scum and villainy” but we’re not **all** like that… But I don’t think anyone would admit to being a bad person.... Right? Pfft, try again. We try to outdo each other: No honour among thieves, remember? In every corner and at every table, some illegal trick is being turned or planned; it’s not where you come for a first date or a quiet drink with friends; no, not Mos Eisley. You’ll be eaten a-fucking-live but for us: it’s home. And while this place has an _outstanding_ reputation with the criminals and the bottom dwellers of the galaxy, it has links to both sides; Republic and Empire, First Order and Resistance, Light and Dark. If you’re into all that; this is where they find each other, this is where the betting pools started. I’m not taking credit for that idea but I am.

 

The First Order is gone and thank fuck for it. Stormtroopers would be an awful lot more intimidating if they could aim and shoot buuuuuuuut…… Put it this way; there’s been no improvement in the program in over thirty years, it ain’t starting now. That said, if it resurges (and these things have a habit of happening), the whispers would start here in Mos Eisley. And that’s why one of the Resistance’s finest walks the stony floors with feigned confidence. Not me. Jesus Christ, not me. An old _friend._ Looking for me.

 

* * *

 

 

Why? Why did she send him to this horrible place? She knew he hated it. She knew the smell made him heave. She knew the looks he got (from the wrong people) made him uneasy. He screamed Resistance.

 

Yet, all he had to do was say no. All he had to do was decline and she would not have pushed him. She would have placidly asked someone else. The reason he came here despite his better judgement was trust. Trust, devotion and respect. Some would even say love.

 

And here he was in this fleapit, looking for the ones the General had sent him to find. He knew them; they were brutal, they were cruel and more worryingly: They hadn’t chosen a side. They hadn’t pledged a loyalty; their loyalty was to the highest bidder. There were plenty of good bounty hunters out there, why had Leia _insisted_ on those cut-throat monsters?! They’d turn on them in two seconds if they got a better offer and he was damn sure there were far better offers going around for this particular bounty than what the Resistance could offer. Gratitude? To have been part of aiding the Resistance and rebuilding the Republic? While those might have appealed to a person with a decent heart, they would not appeal to the ones he was looking for.

 

Bounty hunters, assassins, smugglers; all rolled into one. Maybe Leia wanted to bridge a gap, to form an alliance with the worst of the worst – The Brax.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Poe spotted one by the bar; the ugly one. If there was one, the others would be close by. Brave or stupid; Poe couldn’t decide which he was if he wasn’t both and swallowed hard before puffing out his chest in a show of bravado. His nerves couldn’t get to him; the whole purpose of this visit would be undermined and probably destroyed if they even got a whiff of nerves. The pilot approached the bar beside where the cyclops stood and leaned his front and both elbows against it, taking in the various bottles across from him; most of which he was sure were illegal. He waited, half hoping the greenish-tan creature would move away before he got the chance to speak. It didn’t happen; if anything the creature was now more alert to his presence. Great, spotted first.

 

“Where’s Less?” The question was low, casual as his gaze fixated on the bottles still. The exceptionally tall Abyssin looked Poe over with suspicion, not bothering to play along with his attempt at subtlety.

 

“In the back. With the Guavians.” Balor answered, the words were deep and forced as if Galactic Basic was not his first language; it wasn’t.

 

_Guavians. Damn._

 

"Cutting a deal?" Poe's nonchalance continued, seemingly undented. Seemingly is the key word there.

 

"If they are, what's it to you?" Poe fell quiet. Balor was just a crony, he had no actual say in the jobs the group pursued, he was intimidating and exceptional with a blaster nonetheless. But Poe actually knew Less; maybe he'd have better luck there. So he went to find out.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

I swear to fuck, there’s no way he couldn’t have known I was bored. I stared at the ceiling at some insect crawling across as if a creator had just unveiled itself, I was that FUCKING bored. And he shat on. And on. And fucking on. Where’s my blaster? There’s gotta be a better way to go….

 

Guavians. Those muppets who dress like they were on their way to a fucking gimp convention; head to toe in red leather: who does that?! GIMPS. GIMPS DO. And the Guavians.

 

And I **know** they’re human under there: I fucked one. Yup, peeled off that weird fucking armour (well, the bottom half) and got nasty in a bathroom stall in the Eisley. Not Bala Tik though; he doesn’t bother with the armour. He has more sense but he doesn’t show it very often. I think he’s a virgin but I’m not positive on that, he’s one of those people I can see overexerting himself trying to please someone and getting a stitch doing it. Not sexy, no thank you.

 

The surviving Guavians stand silently behind Bala Tik. Of course, they let him do the talking; intimidation is their forte but it isn’t working. Fuck this; I haven’t had enough to drink to be dealing with this utter tit. And not even the good kind. He’s talking about a secret, restricted shipment of Whyren’s Reserve, the rarest and most expensive whiskey in the galaxy; each bottle worth a small fortune. If I didn’t fucking drink it first.

 

"The shipment is worth over 60,000 units! Split down the middle!" Tik finished, expecting a reaction but I didn’t give him one; with both hands flat on the table and his bottom lip under his top row of teeth, he thought he was doing well. Poor bastard.

 

"So, let me get this right…." I couldn’t not let him know how fucking stupid this was. Leaning slightly across the table; who needed cronies for intimidation when I can do that perfectly fine on my own, thank you very much. "You want me to stray into Corellian territory for 30,000 units and trust you to pull your weight when you can't even get a fucking droid off Han Solo?" _Reaction time, fool._

 

Tik swallowed. Not everyone knew about that particular failure but I did; my red wrapped conquest was one of the survivors. He had a loose tongue while mine was busy.

 

"What does the Corellian territory have to do with it?!" The Guavian leader demanded once he'd regained himself. _I know more than you think I know._ That fucking accent grated me, or maybe it was just him, I don’t know. He’s a cunt, that’s all I know. I pride myself on my eyebrow arch; like, it’s pitiful how much time I spent in front of the mirror to perfect it. But it can get you information, a drink and a fuck; all at once if you do it right. Or it can completely unnerve whoever you’re dealing with and I was aiming for the latter so he got full whack of it. Why couldn't he just accept there was no way this partnership was happening? Have some pride, man. Now, I didn’t owe Tik an explanation BUT I did want to fuck with his head.

 

"The Varnetts run that territory.” I explained as though talking to a child; I don’t like children. “I find myself well in with ‘em at the moment. Easy and overpaid jobs, I'd be fucking thick to risk it. Those rich fucks have more money than sense; if they wanna give it to me, I'm more than happy to take it. I'm hardly gonna shit where I eat, Tik." This is my favourite part. When it FINALLY hits him that he’s not getting his way. Nostrils flared and pinkened cheeks pinched in offense, he gave a furious nod while the pieces clicked into place. That’s it, Tik, use your brain, love.

 

"So how long've you had your head in Cole Varnetts's lap then?" I took a drink to alleviate the boredom of this banal conversation. It annoyed him; I could see it in the way his temple twitched. HA. The accusation isn't troubling. In fact, it wasn’t an accusation at all. It was…. Well, it was just that. A fact. I was indeed riding Cole Varnett like a tauntaun. Yes, he was an absolute prick but as long as he knew what to do with his, who cared? As stated above, it was _very_ beneficial. On both sides.

 

"Who I suck and who I fuck is my fucking business, Tik." He didn’t like that. He’s so easy to piss off, it’s incredible. How did he get this fucking far?! Why was I even talking to him?! It doesn’t matter. He’s sorry he came to the Brax now; that’s us, by the way. I’m not easy to negotiate with but by being a thorn in the side, I weed out the amateurs and the gobshites like Tik.

 

"There's probably not many you haven't!" He spat out of petty jealousy. Oh? Is Tik _jealous?_ Course he is, I’m fucking stunning. He’s seething, it’s hilarious. He thought he was gonna get a fuck outta this job? Jog on, pal.

 

"And yet, Tik, I still won't fuck you." I caught movement behind the Guavians. Whatever way I looked, I recognized that magnificent little pilot trying to hide from me. _No fucking way._  "And speaking of fucking..... POE FUCKING DAMERON."

 

* * *

 

 

 

Poe had hoped to watch and observe for a while before approaching the notorious Nalesse. The deal she cut with the Guavians didn’t interest him but what Poe _did_ want to ensure was Less’ mood; that could (and had done in the past) affect how she received proposals. He could see her clearly; sprawled carelessly in the booth, arms crossed over her (substantial) chest and legs crossed with the dangerous stiletto heels of her boots resting on the table; pointed out so a well aimed kick could kill. The arched eyebrow (Gods, Poe knew it well) and that taunting smirk as she mercilessly whittled Bala Tik…. Yes, Less was in a good mood.

 

That vantage point didn’t last. In true Nalesse fashion, Poe’s name was roared across the cavern just off the bar and half the heads turned. _The best pilot in the Resistance._ He’d been seen; he couldn’t hide any longer. Swallowing lightly, Poe looked around but tried not to betray his nerves as he approached the table, skirting around the Guavians. One target: Nalesse; Get in, talk to her, get out. 

 

* * *

 

 

“Hey fellas, how ya doin’….?” An uneasy nod and the small pull of a similar grin gave the impression he was trying to be friendly but this was hardly the place for _friendly_. “Less? Can I-“ I cut him off, holding up one finger without taking my eyes off Tik and he got the message. Back to the Guavians, I wasn’t going to start one line of business while another was still open. That and Tik didn’t need to know whatever the fuck Poe needed me for.

 

“I’m not interested, Tik. Fuck off.” Needless to say, the scrawny little bastard didn’t appreciate my bluntness. With a strength it didn’t look like Tik had, he kicked back his chair and glared at Poe (as if _he’d_ told him to fuck off) and signalled for his gimps to follow him. Now, I didn’t know it then but this was going to come back and bite me in the arse. I knew I’d pissed off Tik and the Guavians. Did it matter? At that moment, fuck no. My tune was gonna change and you’ll see why later; I really didn’t think that absolute mammary gland would have the balls to do it but like I said, I’ll tell you more about that later. I waited for them to go before I let Poe sit down, waited for those absolute shit sticks to leave the cavern completely before I let my gaze flicker back to the pilot, he knew that was the cue. He took Tik’s empty chair and fixed his jacket though it’s not the one I remember. I kicked my heels down off the table, propped my chin in my hands, head tilted and elbows on the table cause I ain’t no fucking lady.

 

“Poe Poe.” I regarded him with my sweetest smile but we all know antifreeze is sweet too. “Baby. What happened? I woke up on Yavin 4; no you, no good morning finger. The fuck, Dameron?” His face contorted with awkwardness, he clearly wasn’t proud he’d gone home to visit what family he had left then spent the night in a cantina with yours truly; wasn’t the first time either.

 

“I got an urgent transmission, I had to head back.”

“Could’ve woken me.”

“You’re not the easiest to deal with in the morning.”

“C’mon Poe, I’m not easy to deal with full stop.”

“A’right. Okay, you’re right. I should’ve woken you.”

 

"Where's BB-8?" That adorable fucking droid. He'd caused  _a lot_ of trouble in the galaxy a few weeks ago just by existing, I could get on board with that.

"Still in the ship." Poe answered as fondly as I had asked, he knew I had a soft spot for the white and orange little robot. "Droids still aren't allowed in here."

"That's a shame, isn't it? I suppose Dolkar's rules are Dolkar's rules. We don't want to be pissing off Dolkar. He's like a little fucking puppy though, BB. I love him. I just wanna cuddle him till there's nothing left but nuts and bolts." Balor caught my attention from the archway into the bar, he wasn’t very subtle when his (one) eye clicked to Poe’s back. I gave him a small nod to show him Poe had found me. Very shifty criminal stuff, you see so he went back to the bar; drink yourself under the table, lad. Treat yo’ self.

 

Poe didn’t notice but he didn’t seem as nervous which was definitely a plus. Nothing more annoying than dealing with an edgy little bunny and Poe normally wasn’t; then again, when me and Poe got together, it was usually after a few drinks. He mightn’t have been nervous anymore but he was still awkward; I think he might’ve taken what I said about Yavin 4 to heart. More often than not, I woke up by myself If it wasn't me making the creeping exit before daybreak.

 

“Guavians huh?”

“No, Tik can’t hold his own. The job was shite anyway. I’m not putting my arse on the line with the Varnetts for fucking whiskey.”

“They’re a nasty bunch, the Varnetts.”

“Mmm. Everyone has their faults. I choose to look past them.”

“To their money?”

“You know me so well, Poe Poe!” I replied, chuckling lightly and it intensifying when he started to laugh too. I’ve always liked that sound. “So….” I picked up my drink and gave it a distinguished swirl, it was still smoking. Not sure what the fuck it was, it was bought for me. “What brings you to this fine establishment of ill repute?”

“You.”

“Aww, Poe Poe! Seriously though.”

“You. I have a job for you. Well, the Resistance does.” 

“The Resistance. Has a Job. For me.” Okay? Forgive me for being dumbfounded but I wasn’t quite sure why the white knights of the galaxy wanted **me** (us) for….. Well, anything. Poe was so cute when he tried to be inconspicuous, leaning forward on the table and checking his peripheral vision. I leaned in too and tried not to giggle or look too amused; I was playing with him and maybe he was so wrapped up in his little mission that he didn’t realize it.

 

“The Resistance is looking for General Hux.” I kinda stared at him for a second then it hit me he was serious. And I’ve never laughed so hard in my fucking life. Poor Poe, I’ve never seen him look more disheartened and embarrassed in all the years we’d been shagging on and off! Poe sat back, arms folded and waited for me to stop, I wasn’t quiet and I wasn’t stopping anytime soon. The pilot looked around with his lips pursed (he watched my tits jiggling, I know that fucker) and his patience quickly began wearing thin. “You done, Less?” I had to heave another few howls before I could declare myself ready to continue the rest of that utterly ridiculous conversation.

 

“ _Yeah….!_ ” It was strained and I had to clear my throat to get it out. “ _Yeah, yeah, I’m good! Go on!_ ” The others sharing the cavern with us went back to their own  _conversations._

“The Resistance is looking for General Hux.” I bit back the laugh again; he saw it so he pushed on. “He’s responsible for Starkiller, a lot of people died in the Hosnian System and he’s behind it all, Less! We want to bring him to justice!”

“I’m aware.”

“So….?” Poe had never been _serious;_ he was always playful and sweet, even mid-bang. I don’t know what drew me to him but I’ve never seen him so serious and expectant as I did now. “Will you help us?”

 

“Poe Poe. Baby. Honey.” I began with a light sigh. “Sweetie, if I knew where General Hux was, d’you think I’d still be in this shit hole? No, I’d have handed him over and retired to Naboo by now. No one knows where General Trigger Happy is. And that doesn’t stop everyone tearing up the galaxy looking for him either. And no one knows where Commander Bucket Head is either. If he's with Hux, I ain't tangling with a Force user." Never did before, not starting now. There were no survivors of the Jakku Massacre; that should have been enough proof. I'm cocky but I'm not fucking stupid. 

 

"But.... Maybe there were some evacuated staff from Starkiller? Stormtroopers? Someone who might know where he is?" He's grasping at straws now but we've already closed that avenue.

 

"There was plenty of evacuated staff; they don't know where he is. We've tried, no one's talking." Poe's adorable face kinda twisted as the cogs clicked together in his head. He knew what happened. 

 

"Tell me you didn't, Less."

 

"'Course we did. We're not all good people like you, Poe. Look around, remember where you are." I had to be blunt. I'd give the First Order this though; they torture trained their staff  _really fucking well._ Unfortunately for them, we're better trained.  _And we know when someone's lying._ Takes one to know one, right?

 

"What did you do?!" 

"Oh Poe Poe; if I told you, you'd have nightmares." Water boarding, bamboo to jack the fingernails, cigarra burns to the eyelids, tooth extraction, kneecaping, castration, hamstringing..... I could go on, we get creative. I re-iterate; we're not good people. They're quite unassuming, some of them. We found a Lieutenant; a small, dark haired fella with big, rosy cheeks, looked like he wouldn't hurt a fly. Told me his name was Left Tin Hat Dolphin Mikado., at least that's what I think he said, his mouth was full of blood at the time.  Said Lieutenant (his uniform gave him away) in fact, kept saying "All Power to the First Order" without much conviction (after we managed to stem the blood) whenever he was asked a question. What kinda shitty rhetoric is that? He pissed me off so much with it that I removed the one muscle that meant he couldn't say it anymore. The cutie across from me just flicked his head, I think he was trying to shake it but it was so fast that it just looked like something was trying to burrow it out of his neck. I think he was getting images and he was trying to get rid of them. Poor honey, he seemed to manage it and get himself back on track. 

 

“So, that’s a no?” Poe surmised, running a hand through those captivatingly dark waves and now he just looked helpless and dejected.

 

“Why does the Resistance want us?” I couldn’t not ask that burning question. And I will admit, I was sceptical. How could I not be? The Resistance; the do-gooders, the Team Free Will that destroyed Starkiller a bare few weeks ago without the help of the Republic and they wanted _us_?

“You’re the best there is, General Organa wants the best.” He told me with a light shrug and I believed him but I couldn’t see he didn’t know.

 

“Let’s be fair here, Poe.” I began bluntly, the arched eyebrow rolling into play again. “You wouldn’t be here if that other ignorant fuck didn’t get himself impaled on Starkiller, would you? And by the way; you see Kylo Ren, you tell him I owe him a blowjob for taking care of that shit rag.” He knew exactly who I was talking about and it seemed he didn’t like it. Then again, how the fuck would I know what goes on on a Resistance base? But if the Eisley was divided on anything, it was the opinion of Han fucking Solo. Some thought he was a hero going way back when and others (me included) knew him as a swindler, untrustworthy. No honour among thieves, true. BUT it’s common fucking curtesy to pay back a debt. Just saying; I learned that lesson a long time ago and thankfully, Han Solo hadn’t been involved.

 

“Why you gotta be so cruel, Less?” Poe tutted, seemingly restraining himself from saying something he might regret. You have to be careful what you say in Mos Eisley after all, fights have been started over less; just as Luke Skywalker. 

 

“Gimme an hour and I’ll show you how cruel I can be.” I offered slyly with an inviting smirk and lashes lowered. That was usually the bait and he usually took it but….

 

“Sorry, Less but I’m not on the menu tonight.” Well that was a turn up for the books. Or should I say a turn down? Either way: Wow. First time we’ve sat across from each other and not done anything but talked…..

 

“Oh… Okay…?” When you’re me and you’re used to getting your own way, these things sting a little but I managed to wiggle it out as surprise. Which it was but don’t get me wrong: Ouch.

“Yeah, I kinda met someone.”

“Oh? Well…. She’s a lucky girl.”

“Uhh… He, actually….”

“OH?!” It was his turn to kink the eyebrow. He just didn’t…. Although maybe…. Shit, my gaydar’s broken. “Sorry, I just didn’t think that you….”

“Yeah, I guess. He’s nice, you’d terrify him.” Aww, that little smile! He's smitten! My Poe Poe was in love! That kinda made it worth it, it was nice to see him genuinely happy. He was always carefree and easy going but was that really the same as actual happiness?

“I can imagine. Plenty of lube, Poe.”

“Thanks for the tip. That’s a no on the General?”

“I’m sorry; Poe, bud, but I can’t help you. There isn’t even a sniff of the fucker but if we get one, I’ll let you know. Just remember though, we don’t work for free. ”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Poe got up and shot me the usual “Behave yourself” wink. As always, it was acknowledged but never obeyed. Fond and all as I was of the pilot, I wasn’t going looking for the figurehead of the First Order unless I was guaranteed of a reward and even if I was, I wouldn’t know where to start. Dameron or Poe “Damn, son” as I’d christened him the first time we met, left the Eisley without incident and narrowly missed a well-timed brawl. I was glad he avoided it, that lovely face didn’t need re-arranging. I could mull it over if I wanted but there was no point; it wasn’t like it was going to just drop into my lap. I took another sip of the drink that (to my surprise) wasn’t drugged and sighed as I reached in to relieve the beeping in my pocket.

 

This was the com that was going to change _everything._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started writing this months ago at a bus shelter in Cork City and decided to try it.  
> I have other stories on the go as well which is why I'm only posting it now.  
> It's my first POV (for the most part) fic and I hope you'll enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it!  
> Disclaimer: I know Alexandria's Genesis isn't real. This is fanfiction. 
> 
> Do review and let me know what you think!  
> Proper smut to follow in the next chapter and will probably continue throughout.  
> This is gonna get DARK.


	2. Blowjobs and Bantha Meat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cole gives Nalesse a job. But not before they get down and dirty. The rest of the Brax are introduced and the crew take a trip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got a bit carried away with sexy times. Sorry not sorry.

Cole Varnett was not a kind man. He was not a considerate man and he sure as fuck wasn’t a gentle man. But I knew that when my forehead hit the mattress.

 

I can hear him moving behind me with the ragged inhales and exhales like a predator before it kills something. So I wait and try not to breathe wrong. I’ve been punished for that before.

 

There’s a sudden **CRACK** and an eruption of pain in my right arse cheek. There’s a greedy grabbing at a handful of the pinkened flesh that draws a gasp. He's in a mood. _Fuck_.

 

I need to adjust my knees to hold my bodyweight but I don’t think I dare to move. Yeah, yeah, the fearless Nalesse is petrified her fucking lover will spank her again. Truth is, I’m going to have trouble sitting from this one alone and it won’t be the last.

 

 _"You're a dirty, smuggler bitch, aren't you, Less?"_ He's in my ear now and I swallow with difficulty with the way his other hand holds the back of my head down on the bed. He doesn't give me time to answer.

 

 _"I asked you a fucking question, skank."_ He wants an answer. He's not being kinky, he's being domineering. Remember what I said about Cole being a prick but being good with his? This is what I meant. It depends on his mood. I’m in for a rough fucking night. Double meaning intended.

 

 _“I’m a dirty, smuggler bitch.”_ I answer with a whine and just let him have what he wants. He’s quiet again for a while but I can still hear him, it’s like he’s trying to decide what to do with me. _Just do something, I can’t take this…._

 

A resonating smack on the other cheek; they’re both glowing now, I can feel it. _Motherfucker._ His hand is wondering, just ghosting over the stinging skin and barely touching it. I’m tense, really fucking tense.

 

My vision is dark, my eyes are open but I’m pressed so hard against the bed on my hands and knees that there’s no light coming through. Literally, every time I blink my eyelashes are scraping off that shitty blanket he swears is the skin of some extinct subspecies of Asharl panther.

 

As if I wasn’t bad enough, my whole body stiffens when two of that asshole’s fingers dive into me. No warning, nothing. He wants a reaction; he’s not interested in pleasuring me. He wants to hear me want it so he’s justified when he calls me a whore. Again, I give him what he wants. I moan. I don’t make him work for it, just let him have it and keep going accordingly as he moves.

 

 _“I usually have to do a lot more to get someone else this wet or a fuck ton of lube, Less.”_ He’s taunting me; I can hear the smirk as his fingers thrust. I get it, Cole. I’m a whore. Let’s be clear, I’m not faking this. But I’m not holding back either. I know better. I’d prefer for him to fuck a reaction out of me than beat it out of me.

 

 _“So wet….”_ He pulls out the two cucumbers he calls fingers and wipes them on the flaming cheek of my arse, it’s hot and makes the inflammation worse; he did it on purpose. Cunt. My own honey is drying on my skin already and he’s still surveying me, this indecision will be the death of me.

 

My hands grip the coarse material under me. I can feel him again; he’s sliding the length of his cock up and down my slit and _fuck_ does he know what he’s doing. He’s ready to push in; he does very slightly to tease me, he’s like rock.

 

I want that bastard ploughing into me with everything he has but he’s making me wait. My eyes close and my breathing just hitches and stutters and doesn’t do what I want it to. But this is what he wants. I don’t want this. _I fucking need this._

 

 _“Cole…. Please….”_ He stops. His hand, smooth but worn is trailing up my thighs and onto my hip, gripping it like a vice. The other is still holding my head, he doesn’t trust me yet.

 _“Please what?”_ He really likes to fucking degrade me and it amuses him. It’s in his voice.

_“Fuck me.”_

_“Beg for it.”_

_“Cole, please…. I don’t care…. Fuck me till I bleed, fuck me till I scream, fuck me till that condom wears to nothing just **fuck me!** ”_

I’m dripping, damn near shaking and this langer is taking his time. He knows I want it and I wouldn’t be here if he didn’t want it too.

 

_“What’ll you do if I don’t, Less?”_

_“You commed me, Cole.”_

 

Pain wells in my back as he digs his nails in as deep as he can into the nape of my neck and _drags_ them down the length of my spine, ending on my tailbone. The skin separates and peels, clearing a path and my mouth hangs open as it did though I can’t make a significant noise.

 

I pant through it with the odd gasp of agony and shut my eyes tighter to stop them from welling up and spilling over. I’m definitely bleeding. My back is colder than it had been and that’s probably from the extra exposure. Skin keeps you warm, doesn’t it? That was for being cheeky.

 

 _“Are you going to do that again?”_ His voice is smooth and he’s _daring_ me to do me again, purely so he has the pleasure of punishing me again. His fingers brush against my clit and that’s progress destroyed. _I just want him to fuck me. Cock, fingers, tongue, anything._

 

_“No….”_

_“You sure about that?”_

_“Yes…..”_

_“No more smart-ass comments? Just gonna take it like a good bitch?”_

_“Yes….”_

He finally lets go of my head and even though my neck is killing me and not just from the burning trail all the way down my back; I have a crick in my neck from the way he was holding me. Needless to say, I don’t lift my head. He gets more creative with his punishments and it’s probably not a good idea to test it. I still have a cigarra burn on my tit.

 

 _“Come here, Less.”_ It takes me a while to realize that he’s completely released every hold on me. He’s sitting against the pillows, just watching me drip and watching my clit twitch. He was counting the minutes, he wanted to see how obedient his slut is, how afraid.

 

Hesitantly, I lift my head and look back. Thank Christ my eyes have dried, that would have been more ridicule. He literally has his dick in his hand. He has that superior, smug sort of ‘I’m better than you’ look. He’s not. I can tell you right now, he’s not.

 

Everyone knows Cole’s story, no one knows mine and I’m going to keep it that way if I can. He was born into money, blood money. I wasn’t. We’re different kinds of criminals; me and Cole. But I’m better than him. I don’t have someone else doing my dirty work then fuck her cause I can.

 

Sorry, rant over. Back to the fucking. Or the prologue to the fucking, whatever. He has this thing about not being completely naked when we do the deed. He’s fully clothed now, looking down on me with his (notable) length poking out from his suit pants. His jacket is open; his shirt is untucked and unbuttoned a bit.

 

He stops stroking himself and settles back with his arms splayed out, exposing himself. He doesn’t need to say anything. That smirk is enough; he knows I’ll go for it. He’s right. I scramble up that fucking bed and my head is in his lap in a matter of seconds.

 

I relish that little hiss of pleasure as my mouth sinks down and the hot stiffness against my tongue is like my lifeblood. _Finally._ His breathing is different now, it’s still ragged but it’s deeper. One hand winds into my hair and I don’t think anything of it. His body shifts slightly but it’s just from him leaning back more into the pillows.

 

I don’t think anything of his hand in my hair though it should send off alarm bells; he doesn’t touch for the sake of touch. I’m sucking away to my heart’s content (and his), mostly the tip for now and the lick the odd strip up the length. It’s my turn to get reactions and by fuck am I getting them.

 

It happens so slowly that I don’t even realize but he’s using his grip to subtly push my head down. When he gets past a certain point, only then does it click in my head at the crawling discomfort in my throat that something more sinister is going on.

 

Suddenly, I’m choking and my nose is right up against that prick’s abdomen with his dark and curlies poking me in the eyes. Not only is he right down my throat, he’s moving his hips and fucking my mouth even though I can barely breathe. _Fuck yes._

My eyes are watering, my breaths are gasping and I can feel him hitting the back of my throat. Needless to say the noises from both of us are involuntary and unsavoury. Mine certainly aren’t ladylike. _It’s fucking incredible._

 

 _“Look at me.”_ I do. I heighten my gaze up even though my eyeliner is probably halfway down my face, he doesn’t comment. He’s looking at my eyes. Not looking into them, just looking **at** them. I get that a lot.

 

His hand is still in my hair but he’s not pushing anymore, I’m doing it on my own despite the discomfort. Deep-throating is the shit, apparently. I keep going, sloppy and gross as if the cure to my depravity lies at the base of his cock. It doesn’t. It makes it worse.

 

He’s a good looking bollocks, I’ll give him that. Cole’s not dark skinned as such. He’s tanned from all the time he spends on Naboo. His hair is dark too but not as dark as mine. It’s more of a chocolate brown and shaggy while mine is just black and kinky. Different kind of kinky. His eyes are a kind of electric blue and they’re looking straight at mine.

 

 _“I feel like I’m tripping balls whenever I look at those weird fucking purple eyes of yours.”_ He pants, still giving the odd thrust just in case I decide to stop. Rude. _“And speaking of balls….”_ I hear you, dickhead. Again, I do as I’m told ‘cause I’m not fucking stupid.

 

I change it up. I lift my head off the shaft and a nasty string of saliva and pre-cum comes with me. He doesn’t stop me and his hand slides out of hair. I’m free but I’m not done. My hand goes where my mouth was, wrapping around him and giving him a few light strokes and he’s fairly pleased with that.

 

My other hand drops to one testicle, rubbing it ever so politely (‘cause me and Cole are all about _polite)_ and I cran my neck to take the other one. I literally suck it into my mouth like a vacuum and _now_ he’s moaning. Both hands and mouth are working to obvious satisfaction from those primal sounds.

 

I have that fleshy little sac in my mouth and I could do serious damage if I want to. I caress it, lick it, graze it with my teeth. I swear, he’s close. His hand is back in my hair and only a minute or so into the more intense contact, he realizes it’s too much.

 

He pulls me off by my hair and there’s relief but it’s not welcome. Why’s he stopping me?! He’s still panting and staring at me with his nostrils flared like he’s mad. _Oh shit._ He’s a lot bigger than me so it’s absolutely no trouble for him to toss me up the bed. Which he does.

 

I land on my stomach and pull myself up onto my hands and knees to crawl but before I can do that, he grabs my hips with both hands. He holds them tight again with that vice like grip and I freeze. Looks like our position’s been chosen.

 

His favourite. Doggystyle. He doesn’t have to look me. At least I can be somewhat safe in the knowledge that he won’t pull out suddenly and cum on my face and into my hair. He likes to do that. Asswipe.

 

He doesn’t give me any warnings and I kinda prefer that. All at once, I just feel the deep stretch of being filled and my mouth drops. He takes a minute to lose himself in the initial feeling of it just as I did but he holds all the power. I stop relishing it when he does.

 

He doesn’t waste time. His grip tightens and he doesn’t start slow and gentle, fuck that. Cole brought me here to fuck me and that’s exactly what he’s doing. Already, he’s bombarding me. Skin is slapping off skin, I can hear the squelching of my pussy juices every time he thrusts in then pulls out and his breathing that’s been frayed from the start.

 

 _“Fuck, Less….”_ His teeth are clenched and he’s snarling from behind them as his hips drive into my already pink and sore arse with every lash forward. I can’t bear to keep my own eyes open, it’s like I’m using precious energy to keep them open that I can be putting towards enjoying myself instead.

 

There’s a torturous dragging at my hair and my head is pulled back so he has better leverage and a means to dig himself in even deeper and holy shit, do I welcome it. I can feel everything. Every nerve is alight, biting at me and of course, he doesn’t need to tell me to moan. I’m moaning like I’m being paid for it.

 

Each time I take in all eight (?) inches and he pulls it out again, my knees scraping off that shitty blanket with each movement, the pulling at my scalp and the muscles tightening in my neck….. Not to mention my arse cheeks that just seem to get redder. I can feel it all and my eyes still haven’t opened.

 

 _“That’s it. Take it; you filthy, fucking tramp.”_ He’s close. His movements have become more erratic but he’s not done. Not by a long shot. _“D’you know why you’re here, Less?”_ Wait, he’s actually talking to me? I try to turn my head to look at him but his grip on my hair is too tight.

 

 _“Cause you need to get your rocks off?”_ I pant back at him; eyes open now and thoroughly fucking confused. For some reason, that amuses him or so the strained chuckle from behind me says.

 

 _“I have plenty of others to use for that.”_ Oh good, we’re not exclusive. Cause I’d be in A LOT of trouble if we were. Not that we would be. He’s him and I’m me. Anyway…. _“I have a job for you, Less.”_ He literally pulls himself as close to my ear as he can _using my fucking hair._   _“I want General Hux.”_

_“ **What?!”**_ I yelp and try to turn again but my hair is still firmly within that asshole’s grasp. _“But no one knows where he is!”_ There’s that chuckle again but it’s far more sinister and he’s in my ear again.

 

_“I know exactly where he is. All you have to do is bring him to me. Alive.”_

He finishes, howling like an animal and he doesn’t wait for me to. He lets go of my hair and gives me another spank. My scalp is numb but I’m tuned in enough to notice when he walks around the bed to the bathroom.

 

“Cole? You used a condom, right?”

 

“Pfft. No.” _Oh fuck._

 

No wonder I feel extra sticky.

* * *

 

“Look at that! She can walk this time!”

 

“Fuck you, Draven! Fuck you! Bitch!” I’m having mixed emotions right now. That prick (literal and figurative) nutted in me and now I’m on edge. BUT _I know where he is._ I’m also not sure if I’m pleased about having an audience waiting for me at the dropped ramp when they know what I’ve been doing. Then again, I’m not secretive about it.

 

“That’s rich! You calling me bitch!” He shouts back and when I draw even with him, he’s rewarded with a heavy dig into the arm. I suppose we should hit pause here for a second and I’ll tell you about the three fools that follow me around the galaxy.

 

* * *

 

You know a bit about Balor already. Balor is an Abyssin from a planet called Byss. Magnificent cheese. If you don’t know what an Abyssin looks like, think tall. Really fucking tall. This bastard is over six and a half foot. That’s over two metres to those of you in the metric system. He’s a kinda greenish tan sort of colour. I don’t want to say Bantha manure colour but he’s Bantha manure colour.

 

He has a little bit of hair, scraggly bits varying from brown to white and he’s about a hundred years old. Abyssin’s have regenerative abilities so he’s damn near impossible to kill if you give him time. He also has only one eye (he’s a cyclops, he didn’t lose it) which is unnerving till you get used to it.

 

Galactic Basic isn’t his first language. He speaks it quite well but his accent sort of drags, it’s quite heavy and deep which I suppose is only normal since his mother tongue of Abyssin is all grunts and growls.

 

Balor was a slave when I met him. I was picking pockets in the Eisley; I couldn’t have been any more than eight. I carefully rummaged through the pocket of one of the most notorious slave traders on Tatooine and looked up to find I’d been noticed by a slave.

 

We kinda stared at each other for a while. He held out the chains on his hands without so much as clinking them and I had them off in a couple of seconds. We slipped off together and that was how the Brax started.

 

Maybe about four years later, we ran into Draven on Takodana. Now, Draven’s a scary fucker if you don’t know him. He’s a pussy cat, about forty years old, likes his drink but don’t we all? Draven’s a Devaronian from Devaron (Yeah, his parent’s cut corners when they named him) and like Balor, he’s huge and they’re both built like brick shit houses. He’s about the two metres or six and a half foot.

 

But what makes Draven so scary is the red skin, the horns poking out from the top of his head, the sharp incisors and a big, long reptilian tongue. You thought I was going to say something else, didn’t you?

 

We found him on Takodana; he’d had dealings with Balor’s master and they seemed to recognize each other. He brought him on board our shuttle and I was running around looking for…. Something. He decided I was funny and that he liked me. So that was Brax number three.

 

Neither Balor nor Draven find me attractive. Never have. I’m literally like….. a squirrel or something to them. A cursing, sex driven squirrel that must be protected at all costs. Because they both owe me. Not that I hold those kinds of grudges. And that brings us to Mort. Oh God. Mort.

 

There’s nothing quite like meeting a guy in a cantina; not the kind you can see spending the rest of your life with (you only come across those in my line of work when you’re scamming them) but will do for the night.

 

And there’s nothing quite like being in the middle of it; panting, sweating, dirty talk and having him balls deep in you when your dad (who you haven’t seen in nearly twenty years) kicks in the door to ask his son if he’s done yet. You read that right. I fucked my brother. By accident. Did we finish? ….. No comment.

 

We didn’t see each other for a year or so after that. Awkward doesn’t cover it. So when I saw that sandy haired, brown eyed bastard leaning on the counter beside me in Javyar’s on Taris, negotiations began on a job.

 

Needless to say, we didn’t touch each other again but that doesn’t stop Draven and Balor from EVER letting us forget it. He’s still quite tall. Not as much as them, he’s about six foot and I’m still the smallest at five foot fuck all.

 

That was about four years ago and now there’s four of us. Assassins, bounty hunters and smugglers; a variety of species and backgrounds. We all have our strengths and weaknesses. Where one of us has a weakness, another has a strength that picks it up. It works extremely well.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“How’s Cole?” If Balor had an eyebrow, it would be raised and the smirk is enough to tell me he’s mocking me.

 

“He’s fine.” I bristle in reply, tossing my hair as strip off my jacket and toss it into my seat. I’m pacing and when I look up, the three of them are watching me. They know me too well; they know something’s going on.

 

“He asked you _how_ he was not _what_ he was.” Mort points out, muscling in on the joke to a snicker from our alien companions. I can never work out if he’s jealous or not. It would be weird to think he is.

 

“Well…..” I sat myself up on the control panel and the lights dimmed when my (still numb) arse hit a certain button. They took no notice and if anything it was more dramatic and their intrigue only deepened.

 

“It just so happens that Cole gave us a job. It’s irrelevant that he was inside me at the time.” That revelation didn’t startle them. Nothing I said did anymore. Well…. There’s probably one thing I could say….

 

“Gentlemen. I know where General Hux is.”

 

* * *

 

 

Wait. That was his only instruction. Wait. Wait to be summoned, wait to be killed; Hux couldn’t be sure but ever the military man, he waited.

 

A tiny hearth housed a small fire, crackling happily on a dry log; it was the vast majority of the heat and light in the tiny log cabin he now called home. The other was a small oil lamp beside the bed. He’d initially been disgusted by the primitive nature of his new abode but it was better than nothing.

 

It was certainly better than being under the prying eyes of the galaxy where his every move would be dogged by every bounty hunter that gathered in every cantina. He had absolutely no doubt there was a price on his head. There were far too many powerful and rich individuals whose families had been on Hosnian Prime at the wrong time.

 

He also had no doubt that if he crossed paths with one of these individuals that his death would not be swift, merciful or kind. And why should it be? What would he have done? Put out the biggest bounty he could afford and hope he got there first.

 

But he was assured he was safe on Entooine. No one goes to that godsforsaken rock and if they did, why would they brave the constant blizzards to stumble across him by accident? He still had a blaster; he still knew how to use it. That was mostly to control the Quohr that roamed the polar planet though.

 

Every day he collected the food package that seemed to magically appear outside his door and every day he opened it in the hope of finding a shaving razor. Every day, he was disappointed. By now, the ginger stubble was itchy after being clean shaven relentlessly for years. Not to mention his fiery strands growing down into his eyes.

 

Another blizzard. He took no notice. They were too frequent now and he was more than accustomed to the noise they brought, he was even beginning to sleep through them. Whether it was the howl of the wind or the lashing of the snow against the small, grimy panes; Hux disregarded the hum of an engine from outside.

 

He put it down to the natural thundering of the planet; a ship hadn’t even entered his mind. When he arrived on Entooine, it had been a long time since he had cooked his own food but the more he did it, the more he realized he enjoyed it. Poking at a freshly defrosted piece of Bantha meat in the frying pan, it crackled and he found himself wary of exploding pieces of fat.

 

If he was as alert as he used to be, he would have been wary of the four forms varying in size approaching the cabin. In the way they moved alone, they were clearly adept at being silent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Think Revenant Domhnall for this one.


	3. Water, Water, Everywhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Brax find Hux and when he provokes Nalesse, she shows him just how nasty she can be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of unsavoury names for people of the redheaded variety in this chapter. If you are in fact a redhead, I mean no offence. I prefer redheads. Pretty graphic descriptions coming up. Domhnall, if you’re reading this and I hope you’re not: I’m sorry.

 

So here I am, watching the scanner and looking for Queen Elsa’s frozen fucking castle. When it beeps, I zoom in and find myself somewhat relieved that I wasn’t the only one Cole was a dick to. The General of the First fucking Order gets exiled to a tiny log cabin on Entooine which is probably about a quarter of the size he’s used to. Karma, bitch. And Karma’s about to kick in his door.

 

I _never_ enter a property first. Balor and Draven don’t stop me from doing much but that is the one thing they won’t allow. Precaution, they tell me. They always go in first in case whoever we’re looking for is waiting for us. Because precious baby Nalesse must be protected at all costs. We’re in the wrong job for that shit, lads.

 

Needless to say, I’m fucking freezing. I make it a rule to try and stay off polar planets but when Cole is involved, rules go out the window. Like contraception it seems. Sorry, I’m still fucking raging over that. Every pain I get, every time I feel a little unwell or if I decide I want something weird to eat; my fucking mind goes into overdrive. I haven’t told the others. I’m just being paranoid….. Right?

 

The sooner I get out of this fucking snow, the better and these assholes make me wait outside. I know the Quohr roam this area. Quohr, if you don’t know, are huge fucking furry things that hunt in packs. And they’d eat you as quick as they’d look at you. I’m an animal lover but if I see one, I’m fucking running. Like any sensible person would. Because I’m sensible. Sometimes.

 

Balor and Draven look at me like “What’ve we told you?” so I roll my eyes and drop back a few feet. Only then are they satisfied. Believe me when I say that it all happens so fast that I even I don’t know what’s going on so certainly the target doesn’t. That shitty, worn oak door is blown in; splinters of wood and nails go flying, yet there’s only a moderate amount of noise.

 

 _“I would be very careful when she gets in here if I were you.”_ I barely hear the murmured warning but it seems the target has been advised of my imminent arrival. He doesn’t respond. After the initial grunts and snarls of attempting to fight off his captors, of course. He falls silent when he takes in the two aliens, both bigger and the human of more or less the same size as him. And when I follow about thirty seconds later (the agreed time), he’s already on his knees.

 

The cabin is pretty damn ancient; poorly lit and smells like a mixture of must and Bantha meat. As supported by the pan on the stove with (you guessed it) Bantha meat in it. I take a minute or so to take a slow saunter around (cause I like the way my boots sound on the rotting floor); more standard procedure, just in case of any booby traps or anyone hiding that could be hazardous to us. Nothing. We’re clear.

 

“You sure this is him?” Mort speaks first so my attention (the span isn’t great) is automatically drawn to him. Then I follow his gaze and I see what he’s talking about. This guy is….. Weedy. Tall, sure but not as muscular as you’d think. He’s dirty and ragged in his clothes and overall hygiene. He’s also got a fiery head on him though it seems to be thick with grease, making it darker.

 

With Draven and Balor on either side of him, each holding an arm to break it on cue if he misbehaves, Mort lurks in the background to let me do my thing. Because it’s always the pretty one that does the talking, right? His head is down but the blood is dripping steadily from his face onto the cracking planks of the floor; if it’s his lip, his nose, I dunno. Don’t care.

 

“Evening, sunshine.” He doesn’t appreciate the pet name or the cheery tone I deliver it with. Or maybe it’s something to do with the barrel of my blaster under his chin that’s making him look up. I can see him properly now; he looks _rough._ Nah, this can’t be him. Cole either gave us the wrong coordinates or sent us on a wild Bantha chase for kicks. Either way: This ain’t General Hux. Can’t be.

 

“Mind confirming your name for me, darling?” This is just more common practice. You ALWAYS have your target confirm their name. By _any_ means necessary. Cause if you bring back the wrong person, you’re liable, not them. Now, I’m not squeamish but when someone launches a mouthful of blood into my face, I’m not going to fucking sweet about it. _Motherfucker. They warned you for a fucking reason._

 

“Oh you’re gonna get it for that.” Draven chortles, tightening his grip on ‘Hux’s’ left arm and positioning it in such a way that he can break it or dislocate the shoulder on my say-so. The gingernut knows not to struggle but growls as an involuntary response. I’d assume he has enough cop on to assess the situation; he knows he’s out-numbered and out-gunned. Big fucking time.

 

“Get me a towel.” I haven’t taken my eyes off the ‘General’, he stares back at me with his lip curved in vague satisfaction. He thinks the towel is for the blood. Mort (who knows not to fuck around right now) does as he’s fucking told. The bloody saliva is still on my face, hot and metallic. I can smell it and I’m doing my utmost not to let it seep between my own lips. That’s not what the towel is for; it’s going to stay there for a while. Just until I’m finished.

 

“Draven, Balor’s big and bold enough to hold him by himself. Break the two legs off that table there. We need a slanting surface.” The boys concede and Draven crosses the room to me to create the simulation we need. The Devaronian’s arms, like two tree trunks snapping twigs, easily rip the two legs and hey, free fire wood.

 

As that’s being done, I rescue the blaster that sat on it. Passing it from hand to hand with the tainted spit dropping off my face as I move; it’s a nice piece from Blastech Industries. Not sure what model it is, it’s probably custom made for him which does kinda nudge the suggestion that maybe he is who we’re looking for. He’s not just some poor sap in the woods. No, this blaster was made for someone powerful, probably a gift from daddy. It’s mine now.

 

“Find me a jug, a big bowl, anything. Actually, find a few. Fill them.” Again, Mort doesn’t argue. He knows his little sister means fucking business. I did mention that didn’t I? Mort is two years older than me. Our dad’s a scumbag with multiple families. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaanyway. Now, by the look on this little bitch’s face, he knows he’s in trouble. Remember what I said about the First Order being well torture trained? They know that the fucking prelude looks like too.

 

He’s not like the others we’ve _interviewed._ He doesn’t beg when he realizes what’s happening. He doesn’t start yelling ‘All Power to the First Order’ or some shit like that. No, he’s far more composed and dignified. For now. He just looks like he’s calculating how he’s going to get out of it. Sometimes, you can’t. It doesn’t matter how clever you are, when the exits are sealed and you’re outnumbered, it’s all over. You’ve lost.

 

“Thank you, Mort.” _Always remember your manners._ Big bro gets me my towel and goes about the other task. Balor is bigger, stronger and knows how to hold someone but Draven helps him lift Annie off his knees and haul his ass onto the table with his head on the end closest to the floor. Hux (?) is trying to struggle, purely out of instinct I’d imagine so the cuffs go on, just to prevent injury. To us.

 

It’s not long before I have three lovely vessels of water to hand. Might need more but Mort will refill them till I tell him not to. Depends on if foxy over here cooperates. He looks up at me and it’s weird to think he’s not afraid. He doesn’t look it anyway. No, he’s _daring_ me. Oh honey, I’ve done worse things to better people than you. Wonder what he’d say if he saw the bleeding stump of Mikado’s tongue in my pliers. Suppose I can ask him later.

 

Turns out both his nose and his lip are bleeding but the blood flow was from his mouth. Might be a tooth rattling around in there somewhere. Now, let me be clear about something. I _don’t care_ if you like me less for what’s about to happen. This is what we do and let’s be fair, who’s the bigger asshole here? Me or him? That’s if he is who we suspect he’s not. I need a name, all he had to do was give it to me and this wouldn’t be happening. Plus I’m a little pissed he spat blood in my face. Or a lot pissed.

 

If his chest is heaving now, it’s _nothing_ compared to how it’s going to be. Remember how I said the towel isn’t for my face? No, it’s for his. The off-white, almost hardened material isn’t ideal but it’ll do. Don’t fold it. It’ll absorb more meaning less gets to your _interviewee_ and it takes longer to penetrate. Just one layer, spread it completely across his face. There’s no point fucking around when it comes to this. Yeah, play with them a little, it’s all part of it but I hate when someone yells questions while they’re pouring. It’s fucking pointless.

 

The towel is dunked, wrung out then stretched, Mort holds it tight against ‘Hux’s’ face and automatically, his breathing is restricted. He knows what’s coming so he starts banging his legs against the table to get it to drop. _Clever boy._ I don’t even need to tell Balor to hold his bottom half while Draven holds his middle. I’ll know when he’s had enough, when he can’t take anymore and when he’s ready to talk: To give his name.

 

The first few drips onto the towel don’t stir much of a reaction. That’s all they are: Drips. But when I get a bit more intensive, slopping it down onto the towel at random intervals, it’s not only invasive, it’s painful. I like to leave gaps in between the slops so he doesn’t know when the next one is coming and might drop his guard a bit. Like I’ve said before, these guys are exceptionally well trained. But I’ll get what I want. I always do.

 

Let me take you through what he’s going though because I’m assuming you’ve never been water boarded before. Waterboarding has been classed as ‘simulated drowning’; that your brain thinks you’re drowning. I’m going to tell you right now that that’s false. You **are** drowning. Actually, this is a little worse than drowning. When you’re drowning, you’re elevated or you’re level. Happy days.

 

Here, you’re not. You’re slanted downwards which is why I had Draven break the two legs off the table. This wouldn’t work as well if we did it on the bed unless we broke the legs off that too. Also, you can hold your breath while you’re drowning. Here you can’t and it’s because of the slant, that and you’d be inhaling water from the towel which tightens as you try to breathe. It’s kind of a duel effect. The water itself and the panic caused by not being able to breathe.

 

So the first thing that’s happening to him right now and I can see him squirming under the towel is that his nose is filling up. His brain is telling him to breath. Can he? No. Mort holds the towel tight over his face and you’d be surprised how quiet this exercise is. You’d expect screaming or roaring or even gurgling but he simply can’t. It’s amazing how ominous the sloshing of water in a damn near silent room can be. That and the weak bangs against the table when he writhes.

 

That’s panic. The oxygen is his lungs is burning off and not being replaced. Well it is. With carbon dioxide. It’s just sitting there in the bottom of his lungs, useless and potentially deadly. Again, his brain is telling him to breath, to expel the carbon dioxide and take in oxygen but he knows in another part of his mind that he can’t. What oxygen he did have (and it’s whittling fast) is being torn through by the palpitations of his heart.

 

It’s feeding off itself. His oxygen is depleting from his heart and his heart is convulsing out of panic because he can’t breathe. That is without the water itself going down into his lungs. Needless to say, the sloped position doesn’t help that. But this could have all been avoided. All I wanted was his name and he went and spat up blood on me. He was told to be careful and he wasn’t.

 

His brain isn’t shutting down. You’d think that’s what happens. But no. It speeds up. Just like before, he’s trying to calculate in his panic, telling himself to breathe. Breathe. BREATHE!! **BREATHE NOW!!!** Just like his heart is. I swear if I look closely enough I can see it pounding in his chest like a petrified little rabbit. Is he at risk of a heart attack? Probably. If he is, we’ll revive him and start all over again.

 

I stop for a minute but we don’t speak. We never do when we’re doing this (or any sort of _interrogation)_ because if there’s an argument or one of us gets worked up, the interviewee might sense when the pouring will start again if we get stressed or annoyed to take it out on them. I give him a few seconds and the towel stays on his face, the worst thing for him now is waiting for it to start again and keeping his guard up. He wants to relax but he can’t.

 

And he’s right not to. I start pouring again. I’d like to re-iterate how well trained these guys are. The human record is about fifteen seconds. My record is eleven seconds (Balor water boarded me when I was seventeen for the experience even though Draven told him not to) and so far El Gingero has already lasted eight seconds on the first hurdle.

 

I pour the remainder of the jug directly over where I can see the noiselessly moving chasm of his mouth under the towel and that just about does it. He rockets. Despite the hold of two aliens and a human, he’s thrashing with everything he has on the table and that MUST be a lot. If I don’t stop now, his system will go into overdrive or he’ll injure himself. Maybe it’s a conscious decision to surrender or a ploy to make me stop but either way, if he doesn’t get back to Cole alive, we’ll be following him.

 

“Towel.” That one word is all Mort needs to peel back the sopping towel to reveal the grey faced ‘General’ underneath. “Side.” It’s all Draven and Balor need to tip him onto his side to give him the chance to spit up everything and force the water out of his lungs. And fuck does he spit. It’s not even spitting, it’s almost like projectile spewing of a mixture of water, blood, puke and mucus. Yeah, that’s dignified.

 

Naturally, I step aside when he hurls that stinking concoction. If it got on my boots, he’d be down for another round. He’s shaking, spluttering, coughing and hauling in as much air as he possibly can all at once. He’s paler than he was when we got there but on the upside, he’s not as grimy. Not the best way to wash your face, I’ll admit.

 

Internally, his heart is going a million miles a minute, battering against his ribcage with everything it has; it’ll take a while for that to stop. His brain is still in panic mode and telling him to breathe while he can in case he goes under again. If he behaves, he won’t. That accounts for the gasping depths of his inhales and exhales as if he’s never going to do it again. Only now do I wipe my face with said towel. Now it’s time for me to be a bitch. I would say again but I didn’t really get a chance earlier.

_“Are you gonna do that again?”_ I ask him silkily but there’s no remorse and he knows it. If anyone knows about that, it’s him. I’ve grabbed his chin (despite the icky stuff on it) and yanked back his head for him to look at me again. He’s taking me in, still panting and distressed and his eyes are just fixated on mine.

 

They’re glazed over as if he’s been crying but I know they’ve just been watering from the pressure to his system. Unless he _was_ crying. He’s doing the thing everyone else does; scrutinize my colour. Even now? Seriously? You have bigger problems that someone’s fucking eye colour buddy!! He doesn’t answer me; he’s probably physically incapable of it. So I’ll be nice and give him time.

 

 _“You were warned to be careful when I came in here and you weren’t, were you?”_ Again, no answer. He saw the tiny female and underestimated me. He thought Draven and Balor and maybe even Mort were his biggest threats. Well, Draven Balor and Mort don’t water board people. I fucking do. To be fair, he probably wasn’t expecting _that_ to happen. I do my little saunter thing again to give him time to regain himself, heels clicking off the floor just the way I like. Until…..

 

 **“Who are you??!!”** It speaks!! Oh so now he’s asking the questions? Not fucking likely. I whip round in a neat little pivot on the spot to find he’s been totally released and barely restraining himself from sliding off the table. It doesn’t seem to bother him though. His chest is still heaving and he’s staring up at me, only now does he seem to be outraged. He has the same nasally, well-bred accent the rest of the fucking Imperials have.

 

 _“Doesn’t matter who we are, darling.”_ His face scrunches up at the pet name again but he does realize that he’s helpless and being outnumbered is nothing to do with it. He’s still too weak from his little experience. I drop down into a crouch in front of him, observing him with acidic sweetness and the sadistic streak he’d woken with his defilement of my fucking face. I was being nice when I got here! He poked the beast! _“What I want to know is who **you** are.”_

 

He just glares back up at me, struggling within himself. He doesn’t want to give me the information but he doesn’t want me to water board him again. Or worse. Yes, there’s worse. Cole wants him alive; he didn’t say he had to have all his bits and pieces. Up close, I can see every freckle carefully placed there from childhood, I could count them if I wanted to. They’re endearing in a way. Amazing, really. He probably got bullied to fuck over these things and look at what he accomplished. Kind of a waste.

 

His eyes are a sort of bluey green. It’s nice, it’s the kind I would imagine changes depending on what light he’s in. There’s varying ginger in his beard; copper, bronze, a few strands of auburn. He’s not unattractive but I’ve had better. His breath isn’t the best, not sure when the last time he’s seen a toothbrush was, mind. Mine was this morning after morning blowjob breath, curtesy of Cole Varnett. Or cunt, as he’s affectionately known as but never to his face. Dear God, never to his face.

 

We’re just kind of staring each other down, taking each other in. I’m not sure what he’s thinking about me but his eyes have left mine and they’re sweeping over the raven kinks framing my face. I’m not letting anything past my facial features either. He knows he’s in a corner. There’s four of us and one of him. He doesn’t want to give me his name but he doesn’t want to endure that again. He also knows he can’t run. He’d be stopped before he gets to the door and even if by some miracle he isn’t, he’d freeze in an instant. He’s soaking for fucks sake.

 

“My name is General Hux of the First Order.” He finally bows to defeat. “I am under the protection of Cole Varnett-“

 

“Not anymore, love.” I cut him off and he kinda trails off, looking helplessly bewildered. It’s probably all the more pathetic that there’s water still dripping off his hair and his beard. “How’d you think we found you? I dunno how the fuck you got into Cole’s clutches but you’re in deep shit now. Mort.” I nod to the bed and he’s already on his way over to it. “Get the quilt. Let’s get Gingus Khan to the ship.”

 

* * *

 

 

We decided to keep him with us on the ship. Well, it’s more of a freighter, you need something that size when you’re smuggling. We all have our own allocated seats which we chose by our own preference. There’s none of this ‘You’re in my spot’ bullshit. They toss him down beside my seat with his hands bound behind his back and for some reason we don’t gag him. Maybe he’s shaken enough without it. I have a stiletto heel resting on his chest, just hard enough to be a threat and he’s looking at me again. I have my head tilted back with my eyes closed, resting.

 

“Less?”

 

“What?” If my eyes were open, I would have seen the change in his features. At first, he was observing me with dislike, hatred even and now he’s just curious. Or maybe he was always curious. My eyes are closed but I know he's looking at me. The name sparks it, I imagine.

 

“Where’re we going?” Balor and Draven are in the two pilot seats ahead, I’m a few feet behind in my throne or that’s what the other fuckers call it. Mort’s seat is empty, he’s in the shitter.

 

“Uhh….. I dunno. Just drift. Cole doesn’t expect us until tomorrow and I don’t want to inflict his presence any sooner than I fucking have to.” I can be sure he’s listening to every word but I think we’re safe; it’s not as if Cole is going to believe anything he says.

 

“Cantina? There’s got to be one in this Godsforsaken system.”

 

“There’s not. This place is fucking deserted. And no, I’m not leaving him on the ship while we’re drinking and he certainly isn’t fucking coming with us.”

 

It’s been Balor talking all along, the accent is unmistakable. He sighs and Draven chortles lightly from the co-pilot seat.

 

“Humans. They’re a paranoid bunch.”

 

 _“She’s not human.”_ The three of us just kinda freeze. _What. The. Fuck?_ The two boys slowly turn to each other, faces contorted into dreading glee with their lips bitten of what’s about to happen in the stunned silence of the cabin. Orange Crush is about to get it. Again.

 

“What the fuck did you just say?” Needless to say, the purple is open now and I lean down at the captive whose chest (or crotch) is at the mercy of my foot. My head is tilted and I’m _daring_ him to repeat it like he dared me back in the cabin. And just like I did, he takes the dare.

 

 _“I said: You’re not human.”_ He’s more confident in the resolve now and it’s greeted by the whooping chorus of “OOOOOHHHHHH!!!” from the seats in front and they’re both looking back through the gap, almost fighting for a view since both their heads are so fucking big.

 

“Oh really?” I’m not going to hurt him. Yet. But the dangerous streak is back and I think he knows it. He doesn’t know much about me but he does know I can flip like a fucking switch. “Wanna tell me how you came by that fucking deduction, Pumpkin Pie?” I think I might have been right about the bullying thing because while he seems to only subtly snarl at the name, he doesn’t overly react to it.

 

Then it strikes me: The Imperials don’t have that much time for alien species. They’re below them if anything with apparently no means or strength to govern themselves and so humans must do it under a brutish regime. So, when Balor and Draven turn up kicking in his door then purple eyed little old me water boards him to within an inch of his life….. Well, humans don’t behave like that do they? Turns out I’m right. Sort of.

 

 _“Your eye colour!”_ He spits back at me though not literally. He remembers what happened the last time he did that. _“Humans do not have lavender eyes! It is physically impossible! From the characteristics stated in-”_

“I like that you went to the trouble of finding a shade for them.” Jesus Christ, he’s annoying. Now he’s taken aback by my cool observation of his observation, I think he was expecting me to lash out at him. Which I’m tempted to do but what fun is there in beating the shit out of a guy who can’t walk? None. “But guess what, Tomato Top? I AM fucking human.”

 

Balor and Draven are just encouraging me with the snickers coming from the pilot’s console and Mort is still nowhere to be seen. We stopped for food on the way to Hux and what he usually gets there sometimes agrees with him and sometimes doesn’t. I think now is the latter. Poor bastard but I won’t be using the loo after him though I might stick Hux in there and let him know what real torture is.

 

“I have Alexandria’s Genesis.” I inform him, nice and snarky and from the way his lip curls again, it’s either contempt or confusion. “I have purple eyes, dark hair; I live for a fuck longer than I should, my immune system is amazing, like the rest of me. My weight doesn’t change and I don’t get periods!” I debated whether or not to throw that in but the look of utter revulsion on his face tells me it was the right choice. “And I don’t do well in the sun, much like yourself.”

 

 _“You are disgusting.”_ He’s bold and plain though his voice is still hoarse from his little experience earlier. My eyebrow arches with my trademark smirk but he’s unaffected. What the fuck is this guy? He probably hasn’t gotten a lay in ten years! _“You are rude, brash, unladylike, your language is deplorable and you willingly surround yourself with these beasts-“_

I’ve cut him off with the tip of my boot pressing down hard on his Adam’s apple and he’s looking up again, searching for my eyes in the discomfort. I press down harder and relish the little squirm and the grunt of mild pain. I haven’t bothered with his chest. Straight for the Adam’s apple. My smirk is gone, I’m stone cold now and I think it scares him. He’s just reinforcing for himself that I’m unpredictable.

 

 _“You. Will. Not…..”_ I begin icy and put my face down as close to his as I can without compromising the pressure on his throat. I want him to _see_ what psycho looks like. There’s nothing he can do, his hands are still bound behind his back. I’m not even bitchy like I was back in the cabin. I’m downright mad. He still has the nerve to hold his gaze on my eyes even though he can barely fucking breathe.  Who does this amber cunt think he is?! _“Disrespect my family.”_

 

Balor and Draven have turned back around in their seats to pretend their flying the ship but I can see the autopilot light blinking. They know this area is sensitive. Half my fights at the Eisley start when someone insults my family. Not my parents. My _family._ Balor, Draven and Mort. Mort is literally my family but…. Y’know. Awkwardness there.

 

Before I can say or do another thing, everything goes black. There’s a grateful gasping from Hux on the floor when my foot comes away from his throat to stand up. It’s a few seconds before the red emergency lights come on. There’s a distressed sort of beeping from the control panel and Balor and Draven are falling over each other trying to find it, fix it, stop it; I don’t know. I have no interest in Hux right now. If he makes a smart ass comment or tries to take advantage of the situation, I have some nice devices as unpredictable as me I can strap to him.

 

“The fuck’s going on?!”

 

“Someone’s locked onto us.” Balor sounds more worried than he has in a while, Draven’s not much better. That’s bad.

 

“Locked onto us?! Fucking who?!”

 

“I don’t know, Less. All the controls are overridden, they’ve even knocked out the cameras.  Just gimme-“

 

Hurried footsteps from the corridor draw the attention of three drawn, aimed and ready blasters and in the sinister rouge of the emergency lighting, Mort emerges with his hands up.

 

“We have a problem.” He’s just as worried as Balor and Draven.

 

“No shit, Sherlock!”

 

“We’ve already been boarded, Less. It’s the Guavians.”

 

Well, shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I watched waterboarding videos.


	4. Motherfucking Guavians

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nalesse and the crew face the Guavian's wrath after she pissed off Tik in the Eisley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guardians of the Galaxy soundtrack was on repeat for this chapter! I think Cherry Bomb was written for Nalesse!

Motherfucking Guavians on our motherfucking freighter.

 

 

So we still haven’t gotten the lights back on and we’re running around like headless Endorian fucking chickens trying to get ourselves ready. If they’re already on the freighter, time is limited. I know what you’re thinking: “But Less, why are you so afraid of the Guavians?” At least I think that’s what you’re thinking and if you’re not, you should be ‘cause I’m gonna answer it anyway. And I’m not afraid, I’m pissed off ‘cause we’re in the dark; literally and figuratively.

 

 

We’ve never fought the Guavians. They’ve always just….. been there. We haven’t got a bull rancor’s notion how the fuck to fight or kill them. Bala Tik is easy; we can splatter his brains all over the control panel (dibs not cleaning it) and boom, sorted. The fucking Guavians though. That’s where we’re a little screwed. I don’t even have time to prep my cleavage.

 

 

“Less?! What the fuck do we do?!” Mort seems to think I’m an encyclopedia. Wrong kind of smart ass, Mort.

 

 

“How the fuck am I supposed to know?!” I bark back, incredulous as I round on him and in fairness, how the fuck **am** I supposed to know?

 

 

“You fucked one!”

 

 

 **“SO??!!”**  This is true. I did. BUT. I fucked one. I didn’t fucking kill it afterwards. I actually don’t remember what happened afterwards but there was no blood or death involved. The lads seem to think that just because I rode a Guavian in the Eisley that I’m a fucking expert. I don’t know what weaknesses the Guavians have. 

 

 

I know a bit about them but not enough to help is in this specific situation. More than likely, you’ve seen the gimps in red that call themselves the Guavians. They don’t look human but they are: they’re cybernetically enhanced humans. The red armour is called Gorget armour and is made specially for them; you won’t pick it up at a market, like.

 

I don’t need to be intimate with them to know that. However (fancy word), I do know why the armour (which is essential and tailor made to them) is not accessible to anyone outside the gang. Even if you managed to steal it, you probably wouldn’t be able to wear it. “Why’s that, Less?” I’ll tell you. Not only is said armour ridiculously strong (even if it does look like cheap leather) though doesn’t seem to be Rathtar proof (they learned that the hard way) but not much is; it’s fitted around the changes in their bodies. See below for details.

 

 

Like I said, the Guavians are cybernetically enhanced humans and were made that way by swearing loyalty to the gang. What do I mean by cybernetically enhanced? Right, so inside the armour, the Guavians have a mechanical reservoir pump that acts as a second heart. Why? It injects a mixture of chemicals (no one really knows what) directly into their fucking bloodstream and boosts their physical abilities. So not only do they have a virtually impenetrable armour but this shit running through their veins makes them stronger, faster and more fucking aggressive. Not to mention armed with the latest black market technology.  You see the predicament.

 

 

I knew that time in the cantina was gonna come back and bite me in the second love hole and here it is. If I took the time to look down, I probably would have laughed at the look of utter incomprehension on Hux’s face. He’s still on the floor with his hands bound but I think he’s scared because let’s face it; it doesn’t matter who wins, he’s getting handed over regardless. But what I want to know is how Tik found us. Does he know we have the General? If he doesn’t, he’s about to find out and when he does, he’s gonna try and take him.

 

 

“Ideas, Less!” Mort snaps me out of it and I gotta say; I got nothing.

 

 

“I don’t suppose anyone put Rathtars on-board and was waiting to tell the rest of us?” A quick look around knocks that hope. “We’re just gonna have to try and fight our way out.” Needless to say, it’s instinct to protect the cargo. Not for his own sake but for ours and when we do eventually get him to Cole. “Right, if they’re on their way up here, we won’t be able to hide him all that well. So….” Not the best camouflage, I’ll admit but with my jacket tossed over his head, his face couldn’t be seen. Problem solved. Sorta. “Keep your mouth shut and I might just be nice to you.”

 

 

He does try to protest and a swift kick into the side shuts him up but the hiss of pain is just barely audible over the sound of several sets of heavy footsteps in the corridor closing in. We’re all armed to the back teeth; blaster pistols, blaster rifles, daggers, knuckledusters and Draven has a vibro-axe because he’s a fucking heavy bastard.

 

 

I can hear that fucking accent working its way towards the control room and he’s annoying me already. I have to appear _amicable_ and what that means is my thumbs are hooked on my belt which is dangerously close to my weapons which are fully visible but I just haven’t drawn them unlike my fuckers behind me. When they finally get their asses into where we’re waiting, Tik is far smugger than he was in the Eisley; like he’s caught me with my pants down, not that that’s any great revelation.

 

 

As I predicted; the Guavians (five of them behind Tik) are armed, fingers on the triggers and ready to go. His blaster is slung up over his shoulder and onto his back and while it looks bulky, I know he’ll be able to swing that down and have it aimed in a second. But for the sake of ‘diplomacy’, he doesn’t. Not yet. We just kinda mark each other for a minute, quietly taking in the firepower behind the other. This is going to get bloody, shitty and whatever other bodily fluids you want to throw in there. Are you there, God? It’s me, Nalesse. It’s me that breaks the silence.

 

 

“Sup.” I never said I was eloquent.

 

 

“Heard you have cargo.” He quirks an eyebrow at me. That fucking asshole, that’s my thing! Tik casually looks past my lads to where Jaffa Balls amazingly hasn’t moved from. _Fuck._

 

 

“Us? Cargo? Nah, man. We’re just-“

 

 

“So you went to Entooine for a day trip?” That cunt has us cornered and he knows it. That smirk spells it out; he knows more than we do. _How the fuck does he know where we went?!_ His eyes are back on Hux now and I can feel the others getting nervy behind me, even more so when he nods towards Burgundy Bollocks. “And who’s this?!”

 

 

“That’s…. That’s Mort. He got wasted so we put him in his dark, safe place. I think he’s asleep-“ Tik isn’t looking at Hux anymore. He’s looking directly at Mort. The actual fucking Mort. I can feel the cringle rippling from the rest of the crew behind me; I don’t know why I fucking said it, it wasn’t going to work out well but I didn’t think he knew which one was Mort. Turns out he did know. I know we’re in fucking trouble so…. “No way I can fuck my way out of this one, no?”

 

 

He looks me over for a moment like the fucking scumbag is actually considering it, eyes down and lingering on _certain_ places. He clicks his tongue and walks around me; he looks but he doesn’t touch. If he did, someone would break his hand and the whole reason for this little offer is to avoid punching our way out of where we might not be able to. He’s back in front of me and he’s still smug so I genuinely thought he was gonna take me up on it. And we all know I would’ve fucking done it. Probably would’ve thrown in his buddies as a special offer to make sure we keep the cargo.

 

 

“No.” _What?! Dickbag._ “So we’ll be taking the cargo.” Here’s some more smuggler etiquette. You don’t steal cargo. Of course there are assholes who break those rules but they’re few and far between. Even that toe-rag Solo didn’t stoop that low. You can chase the same cargo and you can offer a better rate to whoever wants it hauled (if you’re talking about smuggling which we kinda are with this job) but whoever gets there first, gets there first. Now, if something were to happen to the hauling crew, it’s perfectly acceptable to swoop in and claim the cargo. But stealing is the kinda fuckery that’ll get you blacklisted in the Eisley.

 

 

“Eh…” He’s taken a step forward and is not impressed when I block his path hard with my shoulder.  It’s nothing to do with being rejected….. C’mon, it’s fucking Tik. “No, you fucking won’t.” This is when shit gets even tenser. One more incident and all hell is going to break loose. I’m face to face with Tik now, we’re staring each other down. “How’d you know we went to Entooine?”

 

 

“Followed you.” He answers casually as he takes a few sauntering paces away from me and towards the rest of the Brax. He’s checking out what they have and how ready they are, I can’t really stop him. “Your Resistance pilot pal was nice’n cheery when he left the Eisley.”

 

 

“You better not’ve fucking touched Poe! I’ll skin you, cunt!” I was just about to take an exceptionally pissed off step towards Tik but five Guavian weapons pointed at you in unison would stop anyone. And that’s what makes all hell breaks loose. With the Guavians distracted by me; Mort, Balor and Draven take that as their chance to try and get a head start on the armour. But of course, when the Guavians are shot at, who do they start shooting at? Fucking me.

 

 

 **“JESUS CHRIST!!!”** Hit the deck, bitch! I hit the floor with such force I think I’ve burst a tit. _God, no. Anything but that._ When I suddenly disappear from their vision (are we sure about the enhanced speed thing?), it’s like a delayed reaction that I’m no longer there so they turn and shoot at the ones that are actually fucking shooting at them. By now, Mort, Balor and Draven have scattered, using the seat as shields and I can tell you right now: The control room is going to be a fucking _mess._

 

 

I stay down and crawl along the floor; now is probably not a good time to be taking notice of how fucking dirty it is. I think that’s a (used) condom shoved in under the console from a few days ago but if no one notices, I’m not saying anything. It’s nice that **SOMEONE** respects the request of contraception! There’s a foot gap under the control panel and I’m just small enough to weasel in under there and wiggle my blaster (well, one of them belongs to the Weasley) out. We already know little is going to damage the Guavian armour so it’s no surprise but definitely a disappointment when it makes absolutely no impact; I don’t think he even felt it.

 

 

There’s red blasts lighting up the cabin from the Guavians and a mixture of colours from our hash up of random weapons. Blue, green, orange and Hux’s pistol is spitting out red but it’s more intense than the Guavian red and I was right, the place is like a bomb hit it. Or it will be. There’s a little but not much damage done to the Gorget clad assholes but plenty done to my lads. Mort’s face is bleeding but he’s still going, Draven’s sparring with two of the Guavians with the vibro-axe moving too fast for me to see it properly and Balor…. Balor’s gone.

 

 

Tik is powerwalking towards me like a mom called Sharon so I scramble out from under the control panel, grab the condom and toss it at his face. From his reaction, you’d swear it was acidic. Pussy bitch. It buys me a few seconds anyway while he’s making sure there’s no spunk on his face; there’s something else in his face though: My fucking blaster. He’s not as scared. The fuck? It makes sense when there’s a cold pressure against the side of my head. Guavian blaster.

 

 

So I’m waiting to die. The entire room’s at a standstill; Draven and Mort have stopped and they’re overpowered too. There’s too many of the fuckers. Tik’s backed away but not before giving me a fine slap on the arse and I’m directed towards the wall by the blaster next to Draven and Mort. They’ve both been disarmed and overpowered. Ass on the ground and hands behind my back; the blasters have been confiscated and the dagger and knuckledusters won’t do me any good now. All I can do is hope it’s quick and by the whirring of the blasters being pumped to full power, it seems that request is going to be granted. This is it. The end of the Brax. We’re about to get it execution style.

 

 

Mort holds my hand and gives it a little squeeze and that satisfied little shit Tik is letting it linger; he wants to savour this. I’m kinda wishing Hux wasn’t Hux. I’d love if it was just a passed out buddy of ours so that when he hands over ‘Hux’ to a bidder than he’s mangled to within an inch of his life. Or beyond it. Sure, we would’ve died in vain but it would have been funny. Fingers on the triggers, I close my eyes and wait. There’s plenty of fun to look back on but nothing all that sentimental. I assume I’m waiting for death. Apparently, that’s not the case.

 

 

Literally a microsecond before the triggers are squeezed, a hellish roar erupts from the corridor and for a split second, I thought we were hauling Rathtars. To the others, Tik and the Guavians; it sounds like an animal that’s escaped but to me it sounds like perfect Galactic Basic. It’s Abyssin for **_MOVE!!!_** The Guavians and Tik have turned to the fast approaching footsteps and that’s when I gesture furiously to Mort and Draven to follow me until we’re out of reach of where they left us.

 

 

As I do; Balor arrives, bleeding to fuck and packing heat like I’ve never seen in all my years around weapons. _What the fuck is that?_ He sprays and Christ, I’ve never seen anything like it. This fucking thing he has is wicked. It cuts through the Guavians like they’re made of butter and just to watch it is unbe-fucking-lievable. There’s blaster shots all over the fucking place; they’re clean and thankfully they don’t ricochet. He has just enough control over it to keep the aim on the Guavians rather than toasting us as well.

 

 

You know by now that Balor is fucking huge and even he has to hold this thing with both hands. There’s no blood since the blaster shots just slice through and it’s over in a matter of seconds. There’s a kind of strained stuttering as the last few shots pelt out but the Guavians and Tik are well cooked by now. It’s mad; they don’t even fall down until the last few shots. They wait until the blaster (if that’s what it fucking is) is spent and they just collapse in unison; it’s like they planned and rehearsed it. It’s actually hilarious!

 

 

So we’re just kinda sitting there, stunned. The blaster is still smoking and we’re all relatively unharmed. There’s another moment’s silence and we look around at each other before crumbling into relieved hysterics. How the fuck does that even happen?! We’ve been lucky before but holy fuck this takes the fucking biscuit! The relief is intense and in the spirit of things, we flock to our huge saviour and say and do all the things you’d expect us to say and do to the monstrosity who saved our asses.

 

 

“Shit, man; I thought we were done!” Mort howls, striking Balor hard on the shoulder in some sort of comradery gesture and receives and good-natured shove in return. We’d be dead if it wasn’t for this fucker. Like, seriously fucking dead.

 

 

“What the fuck were you waiting for eh?” Draven asks, slinging an arm around the browny-green being of the same height as him and gets an arm around his shoulder in the same fashion. Aww. I always thought they’d made a lovely couple but Draven’s happily married. I suppose I’d be happily married too if I was away from my partner for ninety nine percent of the time. But to be fair to him; he’s always faithful and when he does get to see her (and his kids), he’s excited.

 

 

“Jesus Christ, I almost shat myself.” Balor shimmies his way out of Draven’s grasp and pulls little baby Less into a hug that almost purposely crushes my spine. I take it in the good faith that it’s intended. “I don’t even know what the fuck that thing is but at least we know it kills Guavians!” Balor lets me go and proceeds to admire his handiwork but when I look around to where we left the cargo…. “Uh…. Lads? Where’s Hux?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

One of us in each sector and here I am; blaster (my own one, he seems to have grabbed his when he slipped away) in one hand, knuckleduster on the other and dagger not far away. It had hit me like a pregnancy scare when I saw the empty space where he’d been. And even now, I’m on edge. What if he managed to escape on the Guavian’s shuttle? We’d be fucked but I have a feeling he’s still here. Hopefully, he got lost and is still wondering around and one of us will find him soon so we can move on and maybe beat the shit out of him for not doing as he’s told.

 

 

It’s amazing how silent heeled boots can be. I’m creeping along the corridor by my bedroom and even though we got the lights back on, there’s always that flickering bulb down here that I keep at Mort to change; it’s still fucking flickering so it’s safe to say he hasn’t changed it. Now, of the four of us and in all four directions in the ship he could have gone; if he’s along here, he’s going to run into the one who water-boarded him. That ain’t gonna be pleasant. And it’s not.

 

 

 **“SON OF A BITCH!!”** This bony fucking weight collides with me and it’s done purposely to try and knock me. Now, I’m not fat but I have curves. Yes, actual fucking curves not excuses and I look incredible for it (I’m not modest either, fuck that) but I’m not easy to move. I’ve been stubborn and immovable my whole life, I ain’t fucking changing now. So needless to say, he doesn’t get past me. **“THE FUCK YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING??!!”** I roar at him and elbow him into the chest. It hurts him and seems to make him mad. Not as mad as I am. So he thinks it’s a good idea to pin me against the wall.

 

 

 _“You are going to let me disembark on the nearest inhabited planet!”_ The demand is hissed and his custom made blaster is up against my chin. It’s on the ‘kill’ setting while mine is only on ‘stun’ for obvious reasons; I’m trying to take him alive while he has absolutely no issue in ending me like the Guavians would have. His first mistake, however, was underestimating my size. I’m tiny, he’s not so his grip isn’t as reliable as he thinks it is. It’s won’t be too hard to slip from it.

 

 

“See, I don’t think I am.” Cocky Nalesse is back and as always, Cocky Nalesse is a bitch. So for the second time in the last hour, I’m saved a millisecond before the trigger is pulled and it’s purely by lodging my foot into the crown jewels his daddy probably made sure he had when he was born. I hear these upper class bastards tend to prefer one gender over the other. He wasn’t expecting that and he certainly wasn’t expecting to be elbowed into the back of the neck.

 

 

He takes a minute to try and regain himself in both the back and the front and I’m feeling generous so I let him. I probably shouldn’t have since when he straightens up that he back hands me into the face. _Right, bitch._ My eye is gonna bruise but fuck it, it’s fine. He swings for me again and I swerve back to dodge it; he dodges my lash out too. I jab him into the soft flesh of his belly with my stiletto and he tries to grab my leg but it’s too short and he’s too slow.

 

 

“You know what the difference between me and you is?” I ask him as we circle each other and wait for the other to strike. He doesn’t answer me, the ignorant prick. “You were trained with discipline and etiquette.” To prove the point, I lashed out at him again with the knuckleduster and he takes it with a stumble and a groan. Naturally, I watch that with satisfaction and even more so when he wipes the blood from his lip. “I learned to fight with no rules and only one goal: Win. Which is why you’re getting your ass kicked by a chick half your size. Come at me, bitch.”

 

 

I have to hand it to him; he does try. But I’m smaller, I’m faster and I’ll take my punches when I can. And all in heels, motherfucker. He won’t hit me from behind, he’s obviously been trained that it’s dishonourable to do so. Thing is: I wasn’t. And I’m amazed that he’s hitting me at all; he was probably told he shouldn’t hit a woman either which is bull and it’s not the reason he’s getting his ass handed to him. He lands a few hits, I’m woman enough to admit that but if we’re going by the amount of blood spilled, he’s losing.

 

 

The dagger would be overkill and it seems we’ve forgotten about the blasters; we’re just content with beating each other to a bloody pulp. Either way, I won’t be happy till he looks like a period. Oh if daddy saw him now. He’s hunched over with blood pumping from his nose, his lip and the corner of his eye; he’s sweating, panting and staring me down like he wants to continue. I’m in a better state but not by much. I’m adept to walking and running in heels but not heavy landings like when you’re fighting so my feet are getting sore, my knuckle is stiff under the duster, he got me under the eye and I bit my tongue when he hit me.

 

 

“D’you really wanna keep going?!” He doesn’t answer, just flings a mouthful of blood off to the side which he seems to have a habit of doing. He’s bigger than me, he’s older than me (not by much though?) and it doesn’t look like he’s used to fighting; he might be trained to do it but he was either not very good at it or hasn’t done it in a while. “I actually feel bad for you right now but if you want me to end this, I’ll do it. I’m giving you a chance; we’ll get you cleaned up, get you something to eat and be a little bit civil, hmm?”

 

 

His response is only partially verbal. He’s backed off a few steps and now he’s charging towards me, roaring at the top of his lungs; what the fuck?. Right, you fucking eejit. So I back off the same steps and charge him as he’s doing to me except I don’t scream like he is ‘cause I’m not an extra in fucking Braveheart. When we meet in the middle, my leg goes up and he gets the flat of the stiletto boot straight to the forehead.

 

He started it and I’m going to fucking finish it. He falls back like a sack of Corellian potatoes just as I land (not in the position I’d have liked but my feet are even worse now). Slightly out of breath, I check him over and of course, he’s out cold. I warned him. I tried to be nice but no. He had to be a prick.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"Draven?"

 

 

"You alright? You're out of breath."

 

 

"Yeah, I'm good. I found him. I'm up in the northern quadrant by my bedroom." Like I said, this dope is bigger than me so of course I'm going to need a hand moving him. Or..... Y'know.... Let someone else do the moving. So I com Draven, Balor's done his bit for today.

 

 

"You have him at blaster point?"

 

 

"No, he's out cold. Get down here before he wakes up."

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"What's the plan?" As usual, the question is directed at me from Mort 'cause it seems I'm the only one capable of making fucking decisions around here. Garfield is still dreaming and his hand is cuffed to my ankle. From that you can probably gather he's lying sprawled out on the floor while I'm in my rightful place as queen.

 

 

"Uhhh..... Tatooine. Dump these assholes in the sarlacc pit theeeeeeeen.... Coruscant."

 

 

"Coruscant? For fucking what?"

 

 

"I don't know about ye but I'm fucking starving. Onwards to Dex's, I say."

 

 

"You know it's not called Dex's anymore."

 

 

"I don't give a fuck what it's called; just feed me, asshole."

 


	5. Tea and Donuts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Less is left in charge of the cargo while the boys go to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the chapters are slow but I hope you're enjoying them.  
> Thinking of making this into a series..... Possibly featuring a certain pissy brat of a dark Jedi at some point?

Tatooine. It’s where this all started. Not just where you and me first met but where I come from. At least I think I do. Nothing was ever concrete in my fucking childhood until I met Balor and even at that, our lifestyle was no place for a child. It still isn’t which is why I only had sex with Cole twelve hours ago and I’m already paranoid that I’m fucking pregnant. Because I know Cole. If I’m pregnant and he finds out, I’ll be hounded to the ends of the galaxy and it wouldn’t be to play happy families or to pay child support either. Cole hates loose ends and a kid with a dirty smuggler is a very loose end.

 

We gotta dump the Guavians first, I don’t want fucking corpses stinking up the freighter. Not that the others would give a shit but I do care about basic hygiene and my time on the floor of the control room has prompted me to take a fucking mop to it when we ditch Hux. Might even play a game with myself: How many used condoms can Less find on the freighter? Up the ante a bit on difficult level when I try to remember who I used them with, depending on where they’re stashed. More than likely; I won’t be able to, get frustrated and just masturbate. No one can make me scream like I can.

 

So Draven and Balor have the ship in a hover over the sarlacc pit of Carkoon in the Tatooine desert while the trap door is open. Now; a sarlacc, if you don’t know, is a sort of creature that (as far as I know) is only found on Tatooine what with all the sand. These things are huge and basically live for-fucking-ever so they dig themselves into the sand except their tentacles and mouth or beak, whatever you want to call it. Then it essentially waits for passer-bys to grab or for them to fall in and that’s how it eats. Not this particular sarlacc though.

 

This one was lucky enough to be found by and fed by Jabba the Hutt. Jabba used the sarlacc as an execution tool which Boba Fett (one of the greatest bounty hunters, like, ever) got full whack of. May he rest in peace but that’s not very likely, here’s why. So, when you fall into the mouth, there’s no getting out of it as such. The teeth chomp down so fucking fast and whatever poor son of a bitch is unfortunate enough to find themselves in that situation is injected with immobilizing neurotoxins. Said neurotoxins cause unbelievable and constant agony which prevent unconsciousness while being digested for thousands of years. …….What? I read, okay?

 

With all that in mind, we should probably be careful when we’re doing this. So, of course, me and Mort are giggling and kicking each other hard into the backs of the calves like the children we are, surrounded by Guavian corpses. Pretty harmless but not at the side of the open trap door over a fucking sarlacc. The sand is whipping up through the hatch; the wind mixed with the sound of the engine and the screaming of the thing underneath us is almost deafening but we won’t be here long. Mort grabs the first Guavian and hauls him down into the waiting trap of the sarlacc. I’ve already tried to grab one but they’re heavier than they look and Mort punched me into the shoulder while I was trying so I laced him with another kick.

 **“STOP FUCKING KICKING EACH OTHER OR I’LL COME BACK THERE!!!”** Draven. Our silly little giggles just erupt into full blown laughter but he’s right. We shouldn’t be fucking around. So we keep kicking each other. **“I’M FUCKING SERIOUS!!! KEEP KICKING EACH OTHER AND YOU’RE BOTH GOING TO BE SARLACC SHIT!!”** Time to settle down. Mort ditches the rest of the pricks and goes for Tik but I stop him. I want a selfie with dead Tik. Boom! Profile pic! Insensitive? Fuck no. I’ll make sure the entire Eisley and his mama see it. NOW he can toss him. Goodbye Tik, you smarmy little fuck! Down into the sarlacc he goes.

 

“Dinner?”

“You got it, babe.”

“Don’t smack my ass, Mort. It’s creepy.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

“What the fuck is wrong with you two?” We’re still giggling like bitches at a sleepover and Draven’s not impressed. Balor doesn’t seem to give a fuck. Hux is awake but only just; he’s still coming round and he’s still thrown on the floor, he’s also not pleased to see me. That could be ‘cause the last thing he probably remembers seeing is my fucking foot. I throw myself back down into my chair with a big, dramatic sigh and give myself a little wiggle to loosen the muscles in my back from trying to drag those red cunts.

 

“Feeeeeeed meeeeeee.” I moan at the Devaronian in the most high pitched and annoying whinge I can muster and Mort chirps his agreement. I cuff Hux’s weak little wrist back to my ankle and he throws me a look of pure disgust; he makes eye contact AGAIN while he does it. Prick. “Do that again and it’s back to nighty night time for you.” If he thinks I won’t knock him out again, he’s high. I don’t care if he goes back to Cole with brain damage as long as he’s fucking alive.

 

“Coruscant?” Draven looks lazily at Balor; letting me have my own way just to shut me the fuck up but I think they’re hungry too. I mean, I’m tiny and I’m constantly hungry. They can’t not be the size they are and not be starving all the time. They just can’t, I refuse to believe it.

 

“Coruscant.” Balor agrees with a conceding nod from the co-pilot’s seat. “She’s right, we haven’t eaten since we collected her from Aargau; my stomach thinks my throat’s been cut. I need something hot after that frozen hellhole.”

 

* * *

 

 

It’s not Dex’s anymore but I always knew it as Dex’s. It was Dex’s before it was destroyed around the time of the Clone Wars and it was abandoned for a while until one of the kids of the old staff remodelled it after like fifteen years. That’s not a sign of my age, by the way. I’m not even thirty yet, thank you very fucking much. But since it was remodelled all those years ago, the old clientele (what’s left of them) and new ones (us) have started to frequent the place; it’s handy when you’re in the system, CoCo Town on Coruscant is easy to reach and they do takeaway. Even better that they’ve kept the menu the same. That will come especially handy to us today because I’m not bringing Copper Cock into any public space.

 

“Right. Less? Order.”

 

“Usual. Iktotch Toast.”

 

“With what?”

 

“Tailring Bacon. And get me a selection box of donuts.” I’m fucking hungry, okay? At least that’s the only response I can give to the look that Balor gives me. It’s a look of _“Have you got something to tell me?”_ I don’t. At least I hope I fucking don’t. Here we go with the paranoia again. JUST FUCKING FEED ME!!!

 

“You gonna share those donuts, Less?” His tone is still very _“You’re hiding something”_. He knows full well I’m not sharing. When have I ever shared?

 

“….No? I’m…. Hungry.”

 

“Riiiiiight. Two boxes of donuts then. What 'bout him?" Balor throws a careless nod to Hux who looks unnerved and surprised that he's been acknowledged at all, let alone tossed into the conversation.

 

"Get him the same as me." The skin over Balor's eye quirks like an eyebrow raise. He knows what I'm doing. "Minus the donut box, obviously."

 

"I have no doubt you'll eat it all but you concern me. You know that; don't you, little one?"

 

"I know, papa bear. I'm fine. Really." He looks me over one last time (not in the perverted way like Tik did but genuinely concerned) and off he goes to get the grub. All I can say is: Dex’s (?) is going to do well in business tonight. Balor and Draven eat their weight on a normal day, let alone with the fucked up day we’ve had. Then there’s three humans: One is a human garbage disposal, the other thinks she’s eating for two and the third….. He might go on hunger strike.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“I’m not eating that.” He’s pissing me off already. I hold out the plastic fork and the open Styrofoam container to him but his lip is curled in absolute disgust, maybe even horror. _Takeaway food, my Kryptonite!!_  Ungrateful idiot.

 

“And why not?” I’m almost biting the inside of my cheek to remind myself of patience but it’s _really_ important that he eats this. I’ll tell you why later. The three lads are watching me with amusement, chewing away at their own while I haven’t touched mine yet. My fucking food is going to be cold and all because of this giant fucking toddler.

 

“Look at it! I’m getting clogged arteries just looking at it!” I hate the way his nose wrinkles. It’s like he’s a higher being of the utmost distinguish. He’s not. He’s a clown that got caught and water boarded to within an inch of his life only a few hours ago.  And now, we’re trying to be nice by feeding him. “It’s disgusting! I can only imagine the state of the place you got it from! Although if the likes of you frequent it, it MUST be filthy!”

 

“He’s good practice for when you have kids, Less.” Balor chuckles from his turned seat to watch the proceedings. Hux shoots him a dirty look for comparing him to a child but a child can be fucking reasoned with and bribed. Thankfully, the control room had been cleaned of glass and blood and whatever other shit (literally, Tik shat himself) that had gathered from our little spat with the Guavians.

 

“Right, y’know what? Fuck this. You don’t wanna eat it?” I snap the carton shut and put it up on the shelf by the control panel just out of his reach. “Not gonna make you but you had your fucking chance. Starve.” Maybe if he sees and smells the rest of us eating, he might be a bit more cooperative later on. At least now I can eat.

 

Iktotch toast is proof of the existence of a higher power. I swear, if it were a person; I would make love to it. Not fuck it. I would make love to it. Sweet, glorious, buttery love. So in my carton, I have three thick slices of egg-dipped Iktotchian gravelwheat bread cooked to perfect golden brown. It’s dusted with powdered Christophsian sugar and coated with Bantha butter and carbosyrup. _Get in my belly._ Even better is the streaky ringtail bacon I have on the side and the variety box of eight donuts for dessert. _And Hux didn’t want it._ His loss. He’s looking at me chewing and on the verge of coming; I think he’s changed his mind.

 

So I’m just about to have an orgasm in my mouth when this high pitched squealing erupts all over the fucking control room, bouncing off every surface. Irritating and all as it is, Hux is the only one who responds to it by trying to find the source and cover his ears with one arm, scandalized. _I think he knows what that noise is!_ Mort’s still eating as if he doesn’t hear it. Unimpressed, I stare him down until he takes notice.

 

“What?”

“Answer your fucking com, dumbass.”

“Nah.”

“Who the fuck is it?” Sighing, Mort rolls his eyes and digs into his pocket with his Socorro slider, protato wedges and Revwien coleslaw still in his lap. It’s like Balor and Draven don’t hear anything but the shrieking continues and Hux doesn’t know whether to be scared, confused or horrified. Right now, he’s a healthy mixture of all three. Mort looks at the screen and this sort of smug smirk starts to pull at his lip. His looks up at me and it stretches.

 

“Have fun.” Is the only thing he says when he tosses the com at me. I catch it and look at the screen. This night just got better. _Thank you, Jesus._  

 

“Du Sade Crematorium, you kill ‘em, we grill ‘em. This is Eight Ball speaking, how may I direct your call?” The person on the other end is not fond of the antics.

 

**“Where’s Mort?”**

“Mort? I don’t know who that is. This com belongs to my lover.”

**“Nalesse, let me talk to Mort!”**

“I don’t know if his name is Mort. I only call him Daddy.”

**“JESUS CHRIST, LESS!! WHERE IS HE?!”**

“Hold, please.”

**“LESS!!”**

“MORT!!” Mort’s like five feet from me but I need him to hear this. “DAD WANTS TO KNOW IF YOU’RE STILL FUCKING YOUR SISTER!!!” And Mort, the gem, roars back:

 

“EVERY FUCKING NIGHT!!” Line goes dead. Dad’s probably gone to hurl whatever he ate, drank or snorted up into the nearest toilet. To be fair; what did he expect, marrying one chick (Mort’s mom) and fucking three others at the same time? Of course there was gonna be strays! For the second time tonight, me and Mort collapse into hysterics. He catches the com I throw back and puts it away.

 

“I would hate to be a parent to either of you.” Draven comments dryly, pausing from his Quor'sav-fried steak and Fornax Rings but only briefly.

 

“Imagine being a parent to _both_ of us.” I chime in sweetly and he chokes on a Ring. “And anyway.” I turn back to Mort. “Why is your ringtone two Chiss riding the fucking arses off each other?”

 

“How’d you know what that is?” Mort asks, face contorted with confusion, his baby sister shouldn’t know what that is! Both Balor and Draven groan because if anyone knows what that is, it’s me. I could be wrong but I think Ginger Rogers in the corner knows what it was too. Maybe he’s not above looking up dirty videos. Neither am I. There’s one or two of me floating around on the holonet. That’s a generous estimate that’s more than likely way off. My favourite one is _Purple Eyed Slut Eye Fucks Camera While Sucking Cock._ Not the most creative but did exactly what it said on the tin.

 

“I fucked a Chiss, Mort. I know what they fucking sound like.”

 

“You’ve fucked everything.”

 

“Sexual liberation for everyone.”

 

“Family discounts? Mort’s been saving his pennies.”

 

“Fuck off, Bal.”

 

* * *

 

 

 _Stuuuuuuuuuuuuffed_. One portion of Iktotch toast, ringtail bacon and four donuts later; there’s definitely a baby in here. A fucking food baby. Right now, I just wanna _sleep._ But first, we gotta decide who watches the cargo.

 

“And the deciding question is…..” Mort roots around in the paper bag in which we keep the deciding questions with one eye closed and his tongue poking outta the corner of his mouth like it takes alotta brain cells to do. He takes it out and reads it to himself first then bursts out laughing. “YUS!!! BEDTIME, FUCKERS!!! WHO HAS THE SHORTEST DICK HAS TO WATCH THE CARGO!!! NIGHTY FUCKING NIGHT, LESS!!!”

 

 **“YOU ABSOLUTE CUNT!”** Hux flinches but it’s not directed at him. That’s not fucking fair! I don’t have a dick! I have something else! Mort knows that, he was fucking inside it!! **“WHY IS THAT EVEN A FUCKING QUESTION??!! I DON’T HAVE A DICK, YOU PRICK!!”**

 

 _“Love you.”_ Mort purrs and slips out, shortly followed by Balor and Draven who want to get away from the tiny, pissed off, sex driven squirrel.

 

 **“Yeah, you better run!! BITCHES!!”** Fuming, I’m alone with Fanta. He doesn’t really know what to say, he just avoids eye contact. Probably better since it’s the proven headcase that’s watching over him for the night. Balor and Draven also added the extra precaution of making sure Hux was caged before they went to bed. Yes, caged.

 

We’re not in the control room anymore; we’re down in a little kitchenette a few minutes from the control room and that’s where the cage was so….. The freighter’s docked for the night on some back-arsehole planet, not sure which one so at least I don’t have to worry about autopilot or anything like that. He’s smooshed into the cage with the stun cuffs still on and he just looks kinda miserable. I suppose I would too if I was clutching those bars; he knows what’s coming. Tomorrow is the end of the line.

 

The cage, in case you’re wondering, isn’t that big. A few weeks ago; Cole gave us another job, we were to collect a Vornskr for his psycho sister, Kendra. Having looked up the size, we got a cage that would comfortably fit a fully grown Vornskr but when we got there, we were handed a black, fluffy puppy. So the ickle baby Vornskr spent the journey on my lap; getting belly rubs, kisses and being fed things from my mouth. _I want a dog so fucking badly._

 

What was I saying? Oh yeah, Hux in a cage. I sit down a few feet away from him and he’s since slouched back like he’s trying to lie down in it. Resigned to my fate of wanting to sleep but staying awake to guard the cargo, I pull out a chair off to the side of the cage and park my ass. Holopad in hand; I try not to think of how I could be in bed, flicking the bean right now and divert my attention to my inbox. _Dick pics everywhere….._ Not all human either.

 

“What are you doing?” I’m not used to having the ship this quiet with someone else around so I admit, I forgot he was there. When I look up, he’s watching me from the cage with his face twinged with blush. Only then do I realize that I’ve been flicking through the dick pics on projector mode singing “Dick holo” to myself with each one.

 

“I’ll be honest, I forgot you were here.”

“Do… Do people send you holos of their _genitalia?”_ He’s actually traumatised.

“Mostly guys. Sometimes girls. You wouldn’t understand that though; I doubt you’ve ever been caught with your pants down.” Hux tuts and rolls his eyes then looks back to me. I still have the holopad but I’ve turned off the projector setting. He has this weird habit (and I’ve only noticed it with me) of looking for my eyes. Even when I massacred his ass earlier (not sexually, he’d keel over), my eyes were his focus. I get they’re cool and all but c’mon.

 

“I have no interest in such vile behaviour.” He huffs, giving the impression he has the moral high ground; it doesn’t work. “Nor do I have the time. I was too occupied in running an organization and doing my part for the galaxy.”

 

“Y’know; for a frigid Imperial, you certainly know the sounds of Chiss having ball slapping sex when you hear it.” His face burns even harder. When he saw the holos, he was just uncomfortable but now…. He’s cornered and he’s embarrassed. “Been looking up naughty alien videos before bedtime, General?”

 

“I…. You know nothing about me! How dare you make such foul accusations! I am a man of-!”

 

“Fuck off. You’re very high and mighty for someone in a fucking cage. You’re still a man and most men only have one thing on their minds. Makes me think I should have a tree-trunk between my legs but anyway…..” Now he’s just confused. He hasn’t got a clue what I meant by that. I meant I think about sex so often, I should have a cock. Which sounds like more fun than it probably is. I sit back in the chair and try to re-immerse myself in the holopad but he’s staring again. _Jesus Christ, get a hobby! Go to sleep! Have a wank! Just leave me alone!_

Nothing’s said for maybe an hour. I think he’s become interested in a certain part of the wall but I don’t really care. I’m reading an article about a chick that got pregnant from anal sex and the ring of my arse is twitching just thinking about it. Thankfully, it’s not a general thing. Apparently, it’s a biological thing that only some women have; there’s no divide between that thing and the other thing. Still; next time I spread my cheeks, he’s wearing a cum catcher. Whoever _he_ may be.

 

“How does it happen?” I remembered he was there this time but I would have thought the length of the silence would have hinted that I don’t want to talk. Obviously not. My answer is less than patient.

“When a man and a woman have had a lot to drink-“

“Not that. Your eyes, the Genesis.” There’s no malice in it, he’s curious even if his tone suggests he feels like he shouldn’t be. Like he’s ashamed he doesn’t know something. At least he has the decency to address the issue; maybe he doesn’t know it’s been pissing me off.

 

“I don’t know. I was born like this.”

“Is it genetic?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did your parents have it?”

“Jesus Christ! No!” He stops poking the bear with the incessant questions. Now he has the fucking balls to _pity_ me.

 

“That must have been difficult as a child. Growing up looking different.” Okay, now he’s pissed me off.

“No, it wasn’t!” Holopad is put down (not as gently as maybe it should have been) and I’m on my feet, heels clicking the short space so he can see me properly. “Because where I came from, it didn’t matter a fuck what we looked like! Which is more than I can say for the likes of fucking you!” I’m not a good person but righteous racism really pisses me off.

 

I’ve seen the way he looks at Balor and Draven; like they’re beneath him, like they’re second class. Well, fuck him. Balor is the biggest darling I’ve ever met; he could've taken off when I removed those chains and left me to deal with the slaver, my life might be very different now if he had but he didn’t. He took me with him and raised me like his own. And I don’t give a shit how clever Hux is, I can tell you right now that Draven is ten times smarter. So as far as I’m concerned, Hux can tickle his prostate with a dry cactus. He’s different now though; his eyes are softer, almost apologetic and he doesn’t look at me for long before shifting his gaze away.

 

Back in my chair and nose glued to the holopad again, we manage to weasel out another stretch of silence. Until…….

 

“Excuse me....?”

“Jesus spare me, what now?!”

“I was just…. Forgive me, did you keep the food?” I’d nearly forgotten about that. He really does sound dejected, like his mortality is after hitting him. I don’t know what Cole is going to do to him or why but Hux isn’t going to be around for much longer. Might as well make the bastard’s last few hours some bit civil.

 

“Oh…. Yeah. I think it’s….” Up again and crossing the room; I did, in fact, put it in the conservator (Mort calls it a fridge, not sure why). The plastic cutlery was thrown out with the empty cartons and bags but this is a kitchen; if I can’t find a knife and fork in here, we probably shouldn’t be calling it a kitchen. Carton retrieved and cutlery located; I wander back to the cage and this time, he’s fixated on the yellow Styrofoam. I don’t hand it over just yet and he can’t seem to figure out why. He knows what I can do; he knows what I’m capable of so I’m confident in my next question.

 

“If I let you out, are you going to behave yourself?” He either doesn’t understand or doesn’t believe the question. His brow is furrowed and he knows the answer but he thinks it’s some sort of cruel joke.

 

“Yes….”

“Alrighty then. Mind your head.” Lock flicked and door open, I step back and give him space; I’ve actually forgotten how big he is. I hold out the carton for him but stop halfway and he looks like his firstborn has just been taken from him. “Want me to reheat it? It’ll taste the same but it might be a bit chewier.”

 

“Yes…. Yes, please.”

“And you can dump the formalities; you’re not ordering anyone around here.” It’s bred into him though, I should have realized that. That superiority, propriety and humourless demeanour have been part of him, probably forever. “Sit.”

 

“No, it seems you’re the one who gives the orders.”

“Damn straight I am.”

“And why is that?”

“’Cause I’m the one with the attitude problem.”

“I’ve noticed that as well.”

“Mmm.” Nanowave dings and I’m smart enough to use kitchen paper to take it out. I found cutlery and give the carbosyrup a little stir, make sure the bacon isn’t too crispy and the slices are separate; he’s watching me do all this. I tell myself it’s the prospect of the meal, that it’s the food he’s looking at; I can’t be sure. He takes the carton before I can set it down and then the knife and fork though he’s dubious about the spoon.

 

“I don’t need that.”

“Trust me; you’ll want to drink the syrup. Take the fucking spoon.” I bet he’s sorry he didn’t accept the grub earlier. He’s tearing into it with little grumbles of enjoyment and I’m trying not to be too entranced by the way he’s horsing his way through it, pausing occasionally to stab a piece of bacon and shove it past his lips. I don’t think I need to worry about him eating it all.

 

The last piece of toast is used to mop up the drain of syrup at the bottom of the carton and when it’s swallowed; he gives a little moan of contentment then lays down the cutlery. I’m in his vision again but he says nothing, just gawking and it’s damn near impossible to tell what he’s thinking. I already know he’s fascinated about the Genesis but he can’t not know that it’s annoying; unnerving even.

 

“Don’t suppose you’d like tea?” It’s like I’ve grown another head.

“You mean you drink something that isn’t alcoholic?”

“D'you want fucking tea or not?”

“I… Yes, thank you.”

“What’s your taste?” I have a rack of different teas and of course, the boys rip the piss out of me for it; more or less for the same reason as Hux thought it was a joke. “I’ve got Cassius, Dagoban Berry, Pepper, Yarba, Red Leaf, Ansionian, Rootgrass, Spiced, Surian aaaaaaaaaaaaaaand Chandrilan. Take your pick. Actually, hold on….. I’m outta Yarba.” Peering into the empty box, someone used that and it wasn’t me. “Box is empty, shouldn’t be there.” He’s not really listening to me at this point, he’s combing through his choices in his head.

 

“I haven’t had Ansionian in years….”

“Awesome, I’ll boil the kettle.”

 

* * *

 

 

He’s warming his hands on the cup and just kinda staring at nothing. I have another idea. He doesn’t notice me getting up, I can’t even remember what I was said to put him into himself like that. Maybe nothing was said and he just sank. He wakes when I poke his arm and only then does he see the four remaining donuts on the table; two each. Yes, I’m sharing. Since I started talking to him, maybe I feel a _little_ bit sorry for him.

 

“What’s this one?” He’s pointing to the plumpest one on the plate; I know them all by now.

“That’s Yowvetch custard. It’s quite sweet.” That seals the deal; the words are no sooner out of my mouth and his teeth are sinking into it. It’s weird to think that the guy who hurled blood into my face and was water-boarded without fear; who I literally knocked out only a few hours ago is now sitting with me, having tea and donuts. And we’re talking. You can see why I’m freaked out, right? Even more so with all those things taken into account, he placidly has his eyes closed in indulgence while he munches.

 

“Kind of like a last meal as sorts, isn’t it?” He murmurs, halting in his chewing for a second.

“That’s kind of a morbid observation.” I counter, hovering my Dianoga Cream donut by my mouth before I could take a bite. “I suppose it depends.”

“Depends on what?”

“You tell me. Of all the people in the galaxy who want your fugitive ass, why Cole Varnett?”

“What do you know of Cole Varnett?”

“Have you seen him naked?”

“No, of course not.”

“Yeah, I have. That’ll tell you what you need to know about my relationship with Cole.”

“I see.” He shifts uncomfortably then continues. “Well, putting it simply; I could not have built Starkiller-“ He doesn’t react to the twitch of my lip when that _abomination_ is mentioned but I know he saw it. “Without his and his father’s financial support. Obviously, I am in no fit position to repay him and I doubt the Order is going to or even can assist me. It’s too late now anyway.” What do I even say that? I know I’m not going to see him after tomorrow. I don’t know what Cole is going to do to him but I guarantee it’s not going to be pleasant or pretty. I think Hux knows it too which doesn’t make the rest of the night any easier.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The boys stay in the ship and me and Hux walk in silence. I don’t know how he’s so composed but if I knew I was walking to my death, I wouldn’t be so calm. Maybe it comes back to the decorum thing that’s just bred into every fucking cell. I glance sideways (and upwards) at the former General and if he notices, he doesn’t acknowledge it. He doesn’t want to draw attention to it; that he’s being pitied by a slut smuggler. There’s no way they don’t know we’re here but Cole is going to want us to knock; the final nail in Hux’s coffin is to force his hand and seek his own death. A very Cole thing to do.

 

“If you need to end it and you don’t have anything, bite through your tongue.” The advice comes quietly out of nowhere and he’s caught off guard by it. We’d be stupid to think Cole will kill him outright: He won’t. “It’ll hurt like a bitch but you’ll bleed out quickly.” The door opens and he’s still staring at me, looking for my eyes one last time. Then I have to go.


	6. Little General Won't Salute

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe the Guavians weren't an accident after all....

Now, I’m not gay but…. When I spy this blonde, Amazonian-like goddess at the bar in the Eisley; I can’t leave her sitting there alone. This chick is built like a warrior, short blonde hair, slender and _at least_ six foot; she’s about a foot taller than me. Then again, everyone fucking is. When I sit down beside her, I feel like one of those tiny fucking fish that latches onto a shark and cleans it. But she’s a lot more receptive. We get talking and I work the purple eye thing. Guys (and girls) love the purple eye thing. She’s fascinated. And she’s netted. Apparently she likes tiny, black haired bitches. We don’t stay long after that. I give Mort the signal, a thumbs up and fuck off after her.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Can’t remember the last time I was in bed with a chick but I still seem to be to be the more competent of the two of us. She either hasn’t done this before or hasn’t done it in a while because she’s a little bit uncertain. She has this tiny sort of shuttle with a compact little bed at the back; pretty standard for a shuttle of this size. She’s a bit nervous so I take it slow and this girl is purring like a kitten. I haven’t even touched her properly yet. Just kinda…… stroking along her skin, kissing everything between and including her lips and her neck and beyond; just to get her nice and comfortable. It doesn’t take long.

 

 

God, she’s beautiful when she’s moaning; when she’s whimpering, when she’s screaming. She’s on her back and my torso is wedged in between her legs. I’ve got one calf flung over my shoulder, the other leg is bent at the knee with her foot planted firmly on the mattress. Writhing and squirming, I’m guessing she’s never come like this before. There’s a gap of in that glorious pussy and it’s currently got four fingers sloshing around inside it and the noise is deliciously obscene. Those big blue eyes are shut tight, too tight; it’s like she’s trying to forget and keep out everything that isn’t me and what I’m doing.

 

 

 _“That’s it, lovey. Can you feel it?”_ I don’t get a verbal answer. Her bottom lip is clamped too tightly under her top row of teeth; it’s like she’s afraid of the sound she’ll make if she opens her mouth even though there aren’t many she hasn’t made already. Her hips are grinding down into the forceful thrusts of my arm and I’m almost one hundred percent that she’s never fucked anything like she’s fucking my hand right now. I’m not looking for anything in return out of this, by the way. Sure, there’s puddle underneath me but I swear to God, just watching this girl go and knowing I’m responsible is enough.

 

 

She’s close, really fucking close. So I’m gonna give her that little extra push and dip my head between her thighs. Bear in mind, this chick is huge. If she wants to, she could crush my head like a fucking walnut. But walnuts don’t give very good oral. Thankfully, I’m not a walnut. The microsecond my tongue touches her clit, she spasms. She’s sensitive, this is good; I know I’m doing well.

 

 

 _“Come for me, darling.”_ I murmur just loud enough for her to hear me over her own screams, fingers still ploughing for the good of the galaxy and pausing my tongue just for a second. _“Come on my face, sweetheart. Coat my fingers. Come on.”_ I’m not trying to rush her, more like encourage her. Hell, I can do this all night but I want to **see** her come. I want to see her face, I want to see her body flailing, I want to see her clit twitching. I’ve stopped stroking that tiny little pleasure organ and I’m suckling on it like it’s the spice of life. Who’s to say it’s not? And of course, Less always gets what she wants.

 

 

Like it’s all been pent up for years, she just explodes. Not literally. Well, sorta. I can just about see her face between her tits (which are bouncing like jelly with her now automatic thrusts onto my hand) and she’s trying to hold on but it’s not working. She’s crumbling and that’s what I want. Neither my mouth nor my hand has let up; I have an almighty cramp in my wrist but it’s more than fucking worth it with what I’m looking at now. It’s like she doesn’t know how to cope with an orgasm. She’s wriggling as if the movement will help alleviate the pressure building up inside her. It won’t but it’s beautiful to see her try.

 

 

Her eyes are still tight shut, her hips are stuttering, her body is tense and her legs are involuntarily enclosing around me but I’m still looking up at her; she looks like she’s in pain. And then, just like that, she does what I ask. I had a shower today but I just got another one and it was fucking _magnificent._ I’m lapping up everything and it takes me a minute to realize she’s looking down at me; panting and pink cheeked as she comes down from it. I’m a little disappointed that she looks _embarrassed_ but I keep cleaning her off, slowing my hand and letting my other hand rub up and down her leg to show her there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Then she relaxes.

 

* * *

 

 

That was last night. I wake to something buzzing against my leg. I peel back the sheets and in my waking stupor, my mind automatically goes to something filthy but it’s my com. Who the fuck is comming me at this fucking hour?! It’s barely fucking dawn! Where the fuck even am I?! The blonde shifts but thankfully doesn’t wake. She has an arm draped over my waist and I’m cornered; I’m not going anywhere without her knowing. _Fuck._ Trying to be subtle about taking out the com and answering it, it could be one of my lot telling me we gotta move. It’s not.

 

 

_“What?!”_

**“Get your FUCKING ass. Over here. _Now_.” **_Oh Jesus Christ, no._ I can’t even answer, the line Is dead. I just kinda lie there for a minute and try to comprehend what the fuck is going on. It’s coming back to me. We’re on Tatooine, I picked up in the Eisley at after-job-drinks. Well, I’ve been buying the drinks and buying virgin for myself for the last few weeks cause I’m still not sure. I might be a dick but I’m not about to bombard an unborn baby with alcohol when it can’t even defend itself. If it’s even there. I took a test a few days ago: Inconclusive. Fucking perfect. We handed Hux over six weeks ago and I still think about it on and off. Guilt? What does that taste like?

 

 

“Hey.” I try to shake her awake but she’s out of it. I can’t really climb over her because if she wakes, she’ll be expecting another round that I don’t have time for. Different approach: Kiss her awake. Nice’n’easy does it and it works. “Hey, beautiful.” I hum when those sapphire eyes open and they’re accompanied by a genuinely sweet smile. I think she’d make someone genuinely happy someday but that someone isn’t me.

 

 

_“Hi.”_

“I gotta bounce, honey. I just got a com call.” With that secured, I clamber out from under her arm, out of the bed and start to get dressed.

 

 _“Oh. Uh…. Will I…. Will I see you again?”_ They’re so cute when they’re let down; it’s etched into those lovely features.

“Sweetie; if you wanna see me again, you can usually find me in the Eisley. Next time I’ll introduce you to Fred.”

 

_“Who’s Fred?”_

 

“Fred’s my strap-on. He has better reach than I do but my tits have a jollier bounce.” Quick peck and I’m gone.

 

* * *

 

 

 

“What d’you mean he escaped?! How the fuck is he still alive?!” Cole is pacing, nostrils flared with a face like thunder but otherwise, he’s pristine as usual. It’s probably the first time I’ve come to Cole’s beck and call and not been fucked. He’s too pissed off to be dealing with me moaning like the tramp he knows I am. I haven’t been invited to sit down nor have I been offered a drink; this place is fucking lavish too. It’s worth more than a smuggler, bounty hunter or assassin (I take in all three) could make in a lifetime even though our reward for bringing in the General was more than fair. It’s not his though, it’s his father’s. I’ve never met the elder Varnett and I’m not sure I want to. Cole’s a bastard. His father’s worse.

 

 

Cole throws himself down into a chair that I can’t even begin to value and says nothing, sulking like a fucking teenager. That spoiled fucking brat leaves me standing while he huffs like his favourite toy’s been taken away. And if I know this sadistic bastard, that’s probably the case. He stays in the chair for maximum two minutes before he’s up again and making a bee-line for me. Before I can do anything my back’s against the wall, sandwiched between him and it and I’m anticipating my clothes are going to be on the floor before I can blink. Apparently not. He’s just staring me down, watching my eyes as if they might solve the problem.

 

 

**“Where is he?”**

“I don’t know.”

 

 **“Don’t FUCKING lie to me, Less! Where the fuck is Hux?!”** I’m really hoping my nerves aren’t showing right now but shit, it’s hard to stop it; the guilty swallow doesn’t help. I don’t know where Hux is, I don’t. But I don’t think he believes me.

 

“Cole, I don’t know. How would I know?”

 

 **“You _will_ find him.” ** He growls at me, his lip curving aggressively and I’m smart enough not to fucking interrupt. **“And you _will_ bring him back here. Fail to do so and you and that band of fucking misfits of yours will face serious repercussions.” ** When someone delivers a threat like that, you expect them to back off. Not this time. **“And as we’re on the subject of those losers that follow you around…..”** I know I want to deck him but that’s probably not smart when I’m alone in his house and he has grunts everywhere. His face is right down close to mine and I can feel his breath on my face. This isn’t kinky, it’s not even sexual. This is downright fucking dangerous. **“How _did_ you manage to overpower the Guavians?”** _What the fuck?_ How does he know about that? No one knows about that! Unless…..

 

That was the one thing that never made sense and I did spend enough time thinking about it. If Tik and the Guavians followed us from Entooine….. How the fuck did they know we were on Entooine in the first place? Unless they followed us from the Eisley like Tik implied but we had a few stops before that…. Did he hurt Poe? But Poe didn’t know where we were going either. But how the fuck would Cole know? This stinks and I don’t like it. I’ve zoned out and don’t realize it until Cole slaps me into the face to wake me up. That smirk is fucking chilling; this goes deeper than my simple little mind can comprehend. _Son of a bitch!_

“You think Tik was smart enough to find you on his own?” He purrs while the pieces click into place. He set the Guavians on us. It was a game. That prick wanted to see who’d win. He didn’t care who died; he wanted entertainment. Even _I_ know that’s not okay. It must have dawned on my face because he goes on. “C’mon, Less. I was bored.” That smug condescension really doesn’t help. I might be dead now because of this cunt! If there’s a baby in here, that would be dead too. I know that wouldn’t trouble him too much though. Just like he wouldn’t be too bothered about me. “I gave him the coordinates on Entooine just as I did with you; you just got there first. The real interest was who’d come back with Hux. You can imagine my surprise when it was you.”

 

 

I just wanna get outta here. Cole never cared about me; I already knew that. But why did it never occur to me that he’d gamble my life (and my crew’s) like that? I should have known better. It almost happened too. If it wasn’t for Balor and that…. Thing….. Tik would have been the one escorting Hux to his doom. Eager to get away, I just give him a numb sort of nod and wait for him to step back. He does, knowing the sooner I can leave; the sooner he gets his toy back. I’m still freaked, still in disbelief although I probably shouldn’t be. I know what this prick is capable of. _Just get me to the fucking door._

“I’ll find him. I’ll bring him back here.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Needless to say, there was fucking UPROAR when I told the others. Not about Hux, they don’t give a fuck about Hux. What they DO give a fuck about is how we were almost squashed by the fucking Guavians so that Cole could satisfy his bored curiosity. Cunt.

 

“That FUCKING **MAGGOT!!”** Balor’s pretty pissed. He’s trying his best not to break something, really restraining himself to be fair. Mort’s confused and Draven’s watching Balor with concern. How dare someone upset his bae?! Well…. That’s what’s going on in my head anyway. I ship them _so hard._ While Balor’s raging and stomping the control room, Mort (who’s still at a loss like I was) bites the nail of his thumb, arm propped up on his lap.

 

 

“So…. What do we do now?” I think we’ve all silently agreed that we’re done with Cole. But how do we sever ties? ……We haven’t figured that out yet but Balor swings in with a rather vicious (albeit only) solution.

 

 **“WE KILL THE FUCK!!”** Balor can’t distinguish who he’s mad at and who he’s not so he just rounds on Mort and damn near takes the skin off his face with the heat from his glare. It’s like he asked the stupidest question known to species-kind with how he holds the brutal look, snorting like something deranged but in fairness, it’s a valid one; given the circumstances. Big bro’s terrified.

 

“Easy, Bal.” It’s nice to be one of the only people the Abyssin will listen to ‘cause he’s fucking scary when he’s angry. He turns to me, slightly calmer but only slightly. He’s waiting for an explanation. “We find Hux-“

 

 **“Are you out of your fucking mind?!”** He didn’t let me finish. **“You want to do what he asks?! You want to find him and hand him over?! What the fuck, Less?!”** I’m gonna let this slide.

 

“If you’d let me finish, Bal.” I respond calmly and not only is Balor locked on me, so are Mort and Draven. “I’m trying to agree with you so fucking chill before you give yourself a fucking aneurism.” Give him a second to calm down aaaaaaaand….. “We find Hux. If we’re going to do this, we can’t do it on our own. We need an ally. He escaped, we need to know how he did it so we can get in undetected. So. Let me talk to him, bring him on-board and _then_ we wipe out Cole. When that’s done, we hand him over to the next highest bidder, yes? Preferably without Cole finding out.” Agreement all round. I’m good at this.

 

 

“There’s just one fucking problem.”

 

“What might that be?”

 

“We don’t know where the ginger fucking toothpick is.”

 

“I might have an idea about that.” If I had asked Cole if the General had complained about stomach cramps about eight hours (specific, I know) after I handed him over, I can bet my life that he’d confirm it. Y’see, I plan for the worst eventuality. If Hux died, he died. Fine. But if he didn’t and I had no back up plan, where would I be? What? You thought I was being nice by getting his food and reheating it? There was a digestible tracker in the fucking syrup. Otherwise I’d be here with my proverbial dick in my hand just as ignorant as I was before Cole sent us to fucking Entooine. So now all I gotta do is find the bitch.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The Paradise Cantina on Bador. If ever there was a misleading name for an establishment, it’s that fucking one. He obviously doesn’t know his cantinas because if he did, he would have given this one a miss. Not because it’s a fucking dump, that’s the least of his worries. The crime lords of Kuat System have been frequenting this place for years and the amount of people who’ve been killed here is dangerous to talk about. Hux still has various bounties on his head. Just because Cole had him doesn’t mean people stopped looking for him. He didn’t advertise that he had the former General, no one does that unless they’re really fucking cocky. Cole is cocky but he’s not fucking thick.

 

 

So now, according to the tracker, Hux is in the Paradise Cantina; where he’s probably being watched. He might be scruffy but there aren’t that many redheads in the galaxy anymore; seems only the Imperials had a sufficient gene pool to breed them in. He picked a shitty hair colour to be a fugitive with, that’s for damn sure. Redhead = Sore thumb. So I need to make a quick entry and an even swifter exit (preferably with himself in tow) 'cause shit’s about to go _down_. The outside of the cantina is scarred, battered and generally unkempt from past battles (told you the place was rough) and general neglect; the inside is worse ‘cause there’s fucking people in it.

 

 

It literally takes me ten seconds to locate the sore thumb and he’s not as attracting as much attention and I thought he would. It’s me attracting the attention. Most of these lads (and it seems to be all lads in here) haven’t seen a woman in years. And then this little thing walks in; black leather stiletto boots (up to the knee, might as well tell you), tight black shata leather pants, a sorta flouncy white blouse (see-through? Maybe, I dunno) and of course, my ancient but trusty purple crosh-hide leather jacket. Tight clothing is a must in this business, don’t wanna be getting stuck while trying to make a get-away (the boots kinda hinder that, I’ll admit). I don’t spend much time clothed anyway and when I am….. Maybe it does scream slut, who gives a shit?

 

 

Of all the Sullustan gin joints in all the towns in all the galaxy, I walk into his. To save his ginger ass. He’s at the bar so my bad self struts past the stares, the leers and the gawps and literally hoist myself into the stool beside him and he’s probably the only one who doesn’t realize I’m there. Just staring ahead in a daze, he looks like he’s had the shit knocked outta him every single day by a wampa for the last six weeks. Split lip, swollen cheeks and eye, random bruises, broken blood vessels. He’s skinnier than he was when we picked him up on Entooine (if that’s fucking possible) and I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if there’s broken bones going on there too. He just looks like a sarlacc spat him the fuck out.

 

 

“Hey.” Nothing. Okaaaaaay. _“Hux?”_ Drop my voice for the sake of subtlety. Again, nothing. A drink is place down in front of me and the bartender points to someone behind me, I don’t even turn around. Besides, there’s probably fucking alcohol in it. Actually, there's no probably about it. Right now, my focus is trying to get this moron to move. The stimulus of a sharp jab of a dagger into the thigh seems to do it. Relax, I didn’t stab him. He’s fucked enough as it is. He starts to blink, like he’s been asleep with his eyes open and slowly, stiffly, his head turns towards me. I can almost imagine the sound effect of a creaking door to accompany it and the thought makes me smile a little. New observation: He fucking stinks. His breath, his hair, his clothes; everything stinks.

 

 

 _“What are **you** doing here?”_ He sounds strained, numb and dead but at least he recognises me. Maybe it means I’ve made his kill list, still he’s not pleased to see me. Understandable. Despite himself, he’s looking at my eyes and I’m doing all I can to ignore the pain and betrayal seeping from his into mine. The transaction was business. Surely he knows that. He’s hired my kind before; he knows how this shit works. You don’t get anywhere by being empathetic with your fucking cargo.

 

 

“Nice to see you too.”

 _“Leave me be, I have nothing to say to you.”_ Eyes ahead again, he’s not feeling very chatty. If he was stronger, I think he might have lashed out at me. With the way he’s acting, you’d swear we were something, anything. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to let him feel like a human being, he probably looked more into it than he was supposed to.

 

“You sore with me?”

_“I said leave me be.”_

 

“What, you’re gonna get all pissy because I handed you over to Cole? You know how these fucking things work. You were a bounty, fair and fucking square. You’re still a bounty and the longer you sit here like the proverbial fucking duck, the bigger chance you have of getting caught and shipped off to someone else.” Several chairs scrape behind me, like they’ve been pushed back in unison. _Fuck._ We need to move and we need to move now but this fucking child is having none of it. Bracing myself for the smell, I grab the front of his grotty shirt and drag him so his face is in front of mine. Whether I like it or not (and he’s going to like it even less), we need each other.

 

 

 _“Listen to me.”_ This growl is reserved for this kind of situation; you’d be surprised how often we have to hightail if out of a cantina and one of us is too pissed to move. For now, Hux is one of us. _“If we don’t move now, you’re getting dragged to another bidder-“_

_“Why should I trust you?!”_

_“Jesus Christ, you’re fucking insufferable! I don’t work for Cole anymore! If I was gonna drag you outta here, don’t you think Balor and Draven would be with me?!”_ They’re outside to cover our asses in case there’s trouble while Mort is in the pilot’s seat, ready to go. Quick glance around. Yup, people are looking and there’s a few on their feet, ready to pounce. I realize now that it was the sweet piece of ass that blew Hux’s anonymity, not Hux himself. Whoops! He’s looking at me again and I think he wants to believe me. “We have a proposition for you. You don’t want it; we’ll drop you somewhere quiet.” _Maaaaaaybe_ not the truest thing I’ve ever said. “But you won’t know unless you come.”

 

* * *

 

 

We managed to bail without incident, don’t ask me how. A few followed us out of the cantina, trying to be subtle but quickly turned back around when Balor and Draven appeared to escort us back to the ship. So now I need to be _extra_ nice to him. Well…. Maybe he can earn it. First step is the tour and of course, the tour guide is female and appealing.

 

 

“Refresher with toilet and sanisteam, nothing fancy.” Point to the door on the right in the southern quadrant and keep pointing them out as I briefly list its purpose, in what we refer to as the ‘boy’s quadrant’ since it where all the boys sleep. I sleep up in the northern quadrant; this bitch might be small but she needs room. “Balor’s room, Draven’s room, Mort’s room aaaaaaand….” I stop outside a room that hasn’t been used for some time but it’s clean and the sheets are sorta fresh; between Entooine and wherever the fuck Cole kept him, it’s probably the Hilton. “This is your room. Questions?”

 

 

“Well…. If this is the male wing, where do you sleep?” And why does he need to know that?

 

 

“I live in the northern quadrant.” He’s a tad bewildered but I push on unperturbed, he asked the question though I’m not exactly sure what his _intentions_ are. Would I? If he cleans himself up and removes the rod from his anal cavity, I might. “I was exiled up there because I’m too ‘noisy’.” That last word is put in physical inverted commas with my fingers. “At least that’s what the boys tell me. Anything else?”

 

 

“I don’t know your name.” His eyes are on mine again, scrutinizing in the sweetest sort of way; curious, indulgent and he’s closer than he needs to be. It’s like he hasn’t been around a real woman in years. I know there were female staff on Finalizer, I pulled out her teeth. She couldn’t have been the only one, surely he dipped his wick? I mean….. He was in charge of the whole fucking thing; think of the fun he could’ve had! I know I would’ve been removed for abuse of power in that position! _Bound on my knees on the floor of an office, tiny skirt up around my arse with little bites from a tauntaun crop, choking down a….._

 

 

“Nalesse. Nalesse Du Sade, no one calls me that. Everyone calls me Less; you might as well too.” He doesn’t really answer, just gives me a stiff nod like he’s caught himself up on the ‘too close’ approach and is now trying to be removed from it. Thing is, you can’t make that jump without it being noticed. “We’re burning those clothes of yours so say g’bye to your nits. There’s fresh clothes in your room; toothbrush, toothpaste, scissors, razor.” That got his attention. “Towels, aftershave, whatever else. Get cleaned up, rest if you have to then we’ll talk. Meet us in the control room.”

 

 

“Where are we going now?”

 

“We’ve got an assassination on Naboo.” Casual as you like. “Some fucking senator. We’re just deciding who goes, you don’t need to worry about it.” I leave him to his own devices and those devices seem to be watching me walk away. Or my arse specifically. Maybe we’re more his kind of people than he thought. Killing senators? The First Order don’t like the Republic or what’s left of it; plans might change.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“You’ve ceased working for Cole Varnett, is that correct?” We abandoned the control room in favour of something more comfortable. No, not just me and him; control yourselves. All of us in the lounge beside the kitchen, food digesting and everyone introduced. I think the Iktotch toast is going to be a running joke because I plonked it down in front of him and said: “Sans tracker”. That answers what he was going to ask of how we found him. “May I ask why?”

 

 

“Correct.” Ladyship always has her own armchair, the boys are reduced to sharing the sofa and Hux is on his own on another armchair across from me. Between us all is a sizeable caf table, clogged with bottles (varying in legality) of different liquors, all strong so Hux is limited in his choice. For the sake of diplomacy (and I’m assuming he’s good at that given his last job), he does accept the drink; not that he can keep up with us but to be fair to him, he’s fucking trying. “You remember the incident with the Guavians? Turns out it was somewhat set up. Cole sent them after us and wanted to see who’d win. So we’ve decided we’re done with the cunt.”

 

 

Needless to say, the ‘Less doesn’t share’ thing is very beneficial at the moment. I’m not the only one who drinks Jet Juice (no, it’s not fucking fuel, it’s just what it’s called) but no one’s going to intrude on my bottle. Just as well ‘cause it’s not Jet Juice (highly alcoholic), it’s cold Chandrilan tea since it’s the same colour and easy on the stomach. So as the others (Hux included), slowly get pissed, I’m blood sober. I’m not drinking ‘til I know there’s no fucking baby in here. And if there is…. I dunno what I’ll do.

 

 

“Unfortunate. You said you had a proposition for me.” He’s sipping away on Ambrostine; I hope he fucking knows what the does to people, it tastes mild but it’ll hit him later. Okay, confession time. Remember I said I’d consider it if he cleaned himself up? Well…. I didn’t think he’d clean himself up so well in such a short space of time. He didn’t shave the beard, just sort of trimmed it and did the same with his hair; just enough that he mightn’t immediately be recognized, tidied himself up like. And I gotta say…. I’m more than considering it. I’m going to tap that. When? I’m not sure yet, maybe give him a bitta time to settle. That’s another thing; he’s far too fucking skinny. I’d rather get some meat on those bones before I jump them. More Dex’s I say.

 

 

“I did.” Back to business, eye fuck later. Not only am I the tour guide, I’m the spokeswoman; business goes through me. “He fucked you around as much as he did us. I don’t know what he did to you, you don’t need to tell us but we just kinda assumed you’d want….. Y’know, to get your own back.” He’s a little bit dubious. Not distrustful and betrayed like he was in the cantina but still unsure which is fair enough, we don’t have a great history; he’s processing it, letting the pieces click in together. That said, he knows we’d be under no obligation to be civil and accommodating as we’re doing if we had ulterior motives. Which we do but we know how to act like we don't.

 

 

“That’s not an offer everyone would grant me. I admit, I’m curious as to why you would be so concerned with helping me seek revenge when you handed me over in the first place? Is it because you’ve been burned? Am I some sort of convenience?” That ginger head is tilted; watching me, eyes dissecting me. Yes, he’s used to unnerving people with his vocabulary and his demeanour. Good thing I’ve cut enough deals to know how to brush off intimidation. I can be just as daunting as he is.

 

 

“Absolutely.” Why sugar coat it? “We got burned. So did you. Makes sense we combine our talents and make the fucker pay, wouldn’t you agree?” He nods and matches me drink for drink, except he’s getting drunker, I’m not. “What we need from you is to find out how you got out so we can get in undetected.”

 

“I would have thought if anyone was familiar with Cole’s home, it would be you.” Bitch, was that a dig?

 

“I am familiar with it.” I respond patiently (just about). “But I only see what Cole wants me to see. You obviously slipped out some little hole, you didn’t walk out the front door.”

 

“True, I didn’t. And tell me; when you get in there, what do you plan on doing?”

 

“We’re gonna ice the prick.” He’s a little bit dumbfounded by the answer but what did he fucking expect? We’re going to all that trouble for a fucking apology? “We already know the place is heavily guarded but we’ve fought off grunts before to do our job, we’ll do it again.” He’s considering it. He’s looking for any sort of lies in my face and for the life of me, I don’t know why he’s looking for them in my chest but he is. Looks like the Ambrostine is working its way through him but what’ll it do?

 

 

“And how can I be sure that you will keep your word? That when this is all over, you will let me be on my way? If I agree to cooperate, that is.”

 

“Make yourself useful and I will.” The cool answer has him tilting his head back in scrutiny again, he’s taking me _all_ in. “Then again; by the time this is all over, word’ll get out that Cole’s dead and everyone’s gonna be looking for you again. So maybe you’re better off not being on your own.” The implication draws looks and not just from Hux, the others too. _What the fuck is she doing?_ Well, if I tell him the truth, he’ll fucking run! “You might fit in here better than you think you would.” Offer him some bit of inclusivity, he’s been alone and vulnerable for too long; he’ll take it.

 

 

“I will aid you in your endeavour with Cole.” He concedes after a few moments of silent self-debate, glass still firmly clutched in his hand; I think he’s found a new favourite drink. “As for after…. It would require more careful consideration. You make an excellent point and while I was, for the most part, safe on Entooine….” My bad. “That will no longer be the case. I expect I will only be able to make an informed decision when the time comes though I doubt it will be in favour of a life among _you_.” Balor opens his mouth to challenge that but I’m faster and launch a peanut at him without Hux even noticing. _Let him fucking think it! Let him think he’s doing us a fucking favour!_ With all that sealed off, we keep on drinking.

 

* * *

 

 

“Gotta wee.” Drinking Chandrilan tea for two hours straight will do that to you. The others are fucked; pissed as coots, slurring and making fun of Mort (even Hux) so I can excuse myself to the ‘fresher. Instead of Mort, his attention is grabbed by me getting up and that bluey green gaze follows me out. Yeah, he’s well drunk by now. So imagine my surprise when I’m done vacating my bladder to find the six-foot redhead leaning against the wall about ten feet away, waiting for me outside. We just mark each other for a second, no one says anything. We’re just watching, eyes wondering and maybe he was more tuned in than I gave him credit for. We have this unspoken thing about daring each other and all it takes on my part is a kink of the eyebrow and a hand on my hip and he takes the bait.

 

 

Before I can make another micro-movement, my back is against the wall and his tongue is in my mouth. Not the smoothest but I’ll give him a pass. And me, being the dirty tramp that I am, start exchanging the saliva. _Let’s get this fucking show on the road!_ Hopefully the bony thing won’t bother me too much but I really don’t give a fuck right now. He’s sloppy but I’m putting that down to it being a while since he’s done it last and his hands are wondering; he’s far from gentle. _Perfect._ So just to confuse him, I push him off. He stumbles and stares, not quite offended but a tad baffled. Next step to playing with the ex-General? Grab his hand and drag.

 

 

We fall into my bedroom, joined at the face again and already, clothes are being tossed every which way. It’s amazing how much of a difference a toothbrush, a scissors, a shower and new clothes can make; he’s far more confident but I have a sneaking suspicion that’s the alcohol. Jacket gone, boots gone, blouse gone and while I’m trying to unhook my bra in a hurry, he’s hopping around trying yank off his boots; poor thing, he was trying to be sexy. He only has those clothes a few hours and already his shirt is discarded on the floor and his pants are being ripped down his legs; those skinny, white legs. He has no chest hair, just little sprinkles of freckles like on his face and they’re cute but I’m not here for cute. Neither is he by the looks of things.

 

 

He's fixated on me, dazed like he’s never seen a naked chick before. Maybe it’s because daddy probably told him a respectable woman doesn’t have tattoos? Maybe it’s the gift of an arse, strong hips or tits that have been getting me both into and out of trouble for years? Either way, he’s stuck and feasting his eyes like he feasted his stomach earlier. He’s trying to palm himself awkwardly through his manties as if that combined with predator slowly coming towards him might help. With my boots off, he has to bend down slightly to tongue fuck my face again but he’s a little distracted, like he’s preoccupied. Well…. If he can’t handle me, fuck him. I don’t think it’s that though. Give him a little bit of helping hand? Literally?

 

 

……..Oh. His cheeks are burning and he’s trying to give me some sort of bumbling, slurring explanation or apology or something, I can’t really tell. I pull him back down and resume Operation Maul Face while I think of something.I’m surprised with myself, if this happened with a randomer in a cantina, I’d be dressed and gone by now.

 

“It’s just the alcohol, don’t worry about it, we don’t ha-“ 

_“N… No…. Want to…. Need to….”_

“If you’re sure. Lie down, let me try.” He traipses over to the side of the bed and strips off the last layer then does as he’s told. Gotta say, the Little General isn’t that little. He’s about the seven and a half inches but he’s thick and he ain’t saluting yet so…. He’s not sure what I’m doing (reinforces my thoughts that this hasn’t happened for him in a _long_ time), but the second there’s a touch of flesh on flesh of my hand wrapping around him, his head drops down onto the pillow. Kneeling on the bed in between his legs, there’s small pants floating from between his lips and as much as he’s enjoying it, it’s not working. Time to try something else.

 

 Thin, icicle-like fingers thread into my hair and he’s looking for my eyes again; to be fair, everyone does that during oral. His hips are lifting, he’s groaning freely like head is meant to be painful rather than pleasurable and tugging ever so lightly on my kinks. My lips and tongue are busy (carpet matches the drapes, by the way) in a continuous sweeping motion of my head, comfortable enough for both of us. He goes quiet and still flaccid so I look up to check. The Ambrostine hit him in more way than one. Well…. That’s never happened before, dude passed out mid-blowjob. Guess I’m alone tonight. Again.


	7. Sorta Cherrybomb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next morning is as humiliating for Hux as you'd expect, the ex-General is cornered by the boys while Less is off the ship to take care of a friend's problem and a desperate request is made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s long and it took forever so sorry about that, hopefully it’s worth it! I believe it's the longest single chapter I've ever written for any work! Do comment/review and let me know what you thought, especially if you're new to it! Pristine Condition is next! Also, I think I will bring Kylo Ren into this at some point. Thoughts?

 

 

I've never heard an Imperial snore before. I’ve never bedded one to hear it snore and I didn’t bed this one either; not really. He passed out mid-blowjob in case you missed it, I certainly fucking didn’t. But apparently they do; snore, that is. Just like the rest of us, human and alien alike. And this guy can fucking SNORE. If he saw himself, he'd cringe. I had to roll him onto his stomach in case he choked on his own puke which I wasn’t fucking cleaning up and now, he’s just a lump in the bundle of blankets beside me. Well, I couldn’t move him, could I? He’s bigger than me and unconscious so he’s a dead fucking weight. I had to leave him there and I wasn’t fucking moving. It’s my bed, why the fuck should I?! Just ‘cause he can’t handle his booze? And I _definitely_ wasn’t calling the others to get him out; Christ, they’d never let me live it down.

 

 

I’m probably not the kind of person you’d expect to do an awful lot of reading. If I’m alone for the night (not that it happens very often but sometimes jobs take more than one day), my sources of entertainment usually span to reading, porn or a glorious mixture of the two in the wonderful concept of _literotica._ I think I could write one, I reckon I’d be good at it with all my experience. There’s probably a market too, any of the ones I’ve read are all about true love and all that bullshit; I’m here for the filth. Halfway through a really juicy scene, there’s movement from the mattress beside me so I let the holopad fall out of my hands to be saved by the sheets. I can’t see him just yet even when I shift onto my side, resting against the pillows. This is going to be _fucking hilarious._ He’s moving a bit more freely, writhing is what I’d call it. There’s this sort of choked moan, teeth gritted and muscles tense and that’s the hangover hitting him. Seems he hasn’t done that in a while either.

 

 

“Morning, stud.” All movement ceases for a minute and I really can’t do anything but smirk, looking down at the lump like the bitch I am. He’s trying to process what the fuck is going on, where the fuck he is and why the fuck we’re in the same bed; I’m gonna sit back and let him come to his own conclusions. “Sleep well?” Very slowly, the sheet is pulled back and all I can see is half his forehead, part of his cheek, one bloodshot eye and of course, a mess of ginger; he’s confirmed that he’s not hearing or seeing things. Bleary and barely awake, he’s trying to look around without getting dizzy.

 

 

_“Where am I? Is… Is this my room?”_

“Not quite, Don Juan. This is my room.”

 _“But….”_ Uncomprehending, he must be innocent as fuck if he can’t even fathom why we might be in the same room or the same bed. He probably hasn’t even noticed he’s naked yet. _“Why am I in your room?”_

“Oh honey, what do you remember from last night?”

 _“N….Nothing. What….?”_ Suddenly, he lurches into a sitting upright position as if he’s been electrocuted, eyes darting and almost fear in his eyes. I’m not that fucking bad. “What happened last night?! What did we do?! Why am I naked?!” There it is. “What the hell is that?!”

 

 

“That’s…. Sorry, that’s a dildo. And lying next to it is the closest thing you got to pussy juice.” That seems to be the thing that pushes him over the edge. Literally. Scrambling up, he can’t get out of the bed fast enough. “You don’t remember? Shit man, that hurts. You really don’t remember waiting for me outside the ‘fresher, pinning me up against the wall and tongue fucking my face?” Maybe I’m being a bit smugger about this than I should be. He’s already tripped over the sheets twice while trying to cover his crotch (no morning wood either), it’s too funny not to have a good view. Hauling myself up in the bed, my knee is bent and my arm is propped up on it with my chin in it, casual and goading as you please. “You said you _needed_ it.”

 

 

“I did so such thing!” I can’t tell whether he’s outraged or embarrassed or both. It’s clearly behavior he’s not used to displaying, of course he’s going to deny it. He’s looking for his clothes then glances back and catches me trying to see if his fluster has stirred anything at all. “Stop that! Stop looking at me!”

 

 

“I dunno, you didn’t seem to mind so much when it was in my mouth last night.” Horrorstruck, he freezes again and stares at me. Is that what happens when he can’t remember the night before? Even if he DID get lucky? Sort of. Fuck Balor and Draven, this guy is the fucking alien.

 

 

“You…. You drugged me! Those drinks… They were all spiked!” Jesus Christ, he’s still painful. He was a lot more fun last night and that’s saying something.

 

 

“Yeah, I wanted to get your skinny ginger ass into bed.” He doesn’t appreciate the obvious, mocking observation. “Relax, love. Our chloroform isn’t for you. And we don’t deal in date rape ‘cause that’s fucked up. Believe me, I fucking know.” I strip back the sheets (they’re just thin linen ‘cause things tend to get hot under them) and bustle my way across the room where he’s staring like he did last night; eyes raking, mouth ajar. Looks like he remembers what I look like naked. Curves, tattoos, scars; he’s taking _everything_ in. “Now who’s looking?” I taunt him lightly with that savage smirk rolling back in, keeping back and letting him treat his eyes. Fuck yeah I do and he doesn’t seem to know what to do now that he’s been caught.

 

 

“This is what a real fucking woman looks like, ink and all.” I saunter a little closer, not in any great hurry. “And you missed out.” He doesn’t say anything, just swallows and stares like he can’t figure out what else to do. So I’ll help him. “You weren’t drugged, spiked or roofied. You were drunk.” A few more steps towards him to put him on edge. “You waited for me outside the refresher, I wouldn’t even call what you did a kiss because it wasn’t.” His cheeks glow at that but I keep going. “We came back here, got naked and you couldn’t get the Little General to salute so I took matters into my own hands. And mouth.” There’s no distinction between his hair and his face now, it’s all the one colour with humiliation.

 

 

“You passed out mid-head which, I gotta say, has never happened to me before. I looked up and you were out of it so I stopped and turned you on your stomach so you wouldn’t choke on your own chuck. That’s the truth, believe it or don’t.” Right up against him now, he doesn’t move but he’s torn between wanting to and not; I’m not psychic, he’s just ridiculously easy to read. You’d think all that time around a Force user would have trained him. Or maybe not. Maybe without the Force user, he doesn’t need to have his guard up. Now to _really_ fuck with him. Straight off, he hasn’t got a clue what to do when I grab him and force my lips to his in a proper kiss. Out of shock, he doesn’t respond until it’s nearly too late but he DOES respond until he’s cut off by a callous shove. God, I need a shower. “Now get the fuck outta my room.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

He’s gone when I get out of the sanisteam, shower, whatever you want to fucking call it; I’m clean, that’s all you need to know. Makes a change, right? He’s eating quietly while the others chat around him in the kitchen and looks up a little too quickly when yours truly struts in. I might’ve had sausage last night but I can safely say it was less than satisfying and the culprit is sitting guiltily in the corner, munching unassumingly on dry toast. _You are what you eat._

 

 

“Make anything for me, assholes?”

 

“Check the oven.” Balor responds with a mouthful of whatever the fuck he’s eating; we don’t cook very often but when we do, we usually make enough for everyone. In our case, with three humans (now) and two aliens, it’s enough to feed a squadron of Stormtroopers.

 

“Gartro omelette and nuna bacon; Balor, you fucking beaut!” God, that _smell_.

 

“Most people would disagree with you.” He replies with an empty mouth and a good natured chuckle, turning in his chair to watch me load up my plate. He’s a great cook, he should do it more often and like any good cook, he likes to know it’s appreciated. Nothing quite says that like someone _enjoying_ their meal. “I’d hurry though. Mort is looking for thirds.”

 

“Well, Mort can fuck off ‘cause I’m starving.”

 

“Meant to tell you.” Mort starts just as I’ve sat down, pushing away his own plate and watching his lost opportunity with my first forkful. “Mika said she wanted to talk to you when I collected the food last night.”

 

“And why didn’t you fucking tell me that last night?” He knows now that keeping his mouth shut probably wasn’t worth the testiness and the bitch staring. Mika is a friend, she works in Dex’s; pretty girl, shit boyfriend. I’ve a feeling that’s what this is about. “Did she say what?”

 

“You were busy.” He reminds me with a pointed nod at Hux as if he’s not even there. He thinks I shagged him. They all do. “She didn’t say what, she just said she wanted to talk to you.”

 

“Oh for fucks sake.” My fork is down and Mort leans forward but he also sees the knife in my other hand. He’d be stupid to risk it. I’ll go when I’ve finished this; just to piss Mort off.

 

 

* * *

 

 

_“I can’t take it anymore, Less! I need you to do something! I know I can’t, I don’t have it in me! Please, Less! I need you to help me!”_

“A'right, Mika. Take a breath. If I’m gonna help you, you gotta tell me a little bit more about this asshole, okay?”

 

Operation Honey-Trap is a go.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

This dude, some loser called Jax, hangs out at the Outlander Club which (like everywhere else on fucking Coruscant) was destroyed around the same time as the rise of the Empire but has (thankfully) been rebuilt. We were stranded on Coruscant about five years ago for around three days; engine trouble and it took a while to get it fixed. For those three days (and two nights), I had to get my kicks in the locality and the Outlander Club was perfect. It gives the impression of high class but nah. That place is _nearly_ as bad as the Eisley and if you don’t have to go there, don’t. Remember I mentioned about the date rape thing? Yeah, one of those was there. I was fine, Balor might only have one eye but it’s fucking everywhere. People go there to do five things; gamble, dance, drink, dose up and fuck; all of which are taken very seriously by the owners of the club. There’s even little _nests_ where the high rolling gamblers can bring a _friend._ In a nutshell, I’m heading back to the place where I first met Mort.

 

 

I look incredible without much effort. I can roll out of bed without showering for four days and they’re still on me like stink on a tauntaun. Which I’m proud of, it’s not many people can do it. And I don’t go four days without showering; it’s just an example, see? So imagine what happens when I have HOURS to myself to perfect it? I’ll tell you what happens: My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard, that’s fucking what.

 

 

You probably know by now that I prefer pants, tight pants. A bit more difficult to get out of but if you work it right, it can be a little extra way to get them drooling. Plus, with the work we do, tight clothing is essential so as not to get caught or stuck which can happen. But instead, I’ve got this short, black leathery strap just about covering my arse; to the liberals, it’s called a skirt. Lucky I don’t have to shave my legs, huh? To keep them at least some bit warm, I’ve got these shredded tights and the usual knee high hooker boots…. What? She said he likes ‘em trampy. And if I’m gonna net the cunt, I’m gonna be trampy. I don’t have many friends but when I do, I look after ‘em. It’s close to my usual attire but I’ve cranked the skank up to eleven.

 

 

I found a dipping halterneck that I haven’t worn in years and it still fits but my body hasn’t changed that much anyway. Again, it’s black to go with the hair and my tits are nice and smooshed together in it for the ultimate cleavage. He’s a boob man apparently so I’m gonna utilize everything I have. He also likes to have something to grab so I broke my mold and tied my hair up into a high ponytail; this alone is a fucking weapon with the weight of it. On a normal day, I do wear makeup. Not a lot but I do. Now though, I’ve kicked it up several notches to take this prick down a few. The boys are in the lounge unpacking their evening grub (Mika gave it on the house as a present for taking care of her problem) and Draven sets mine aside for later. Judging by the cards and the booze on the table, they’re in for their own night of fun.

 

 

“Where the fuck you going like that?!” Typical. Sleep with a guy once and he thinks he owns you but passes it off as brotherly concern. Of course, Hux is staring but he’s unreadable from beside a scandalized Mort. Balor and Draven are busy dealing hands between mouthfuls, not that they take any notice of anything I wear. I’m a squirrel to them, remember? I prowl behind Mort’s chair and he turns, following me; slack jawed. So in our usual tradition of rough play, I grab his hair and jerk his head back so he’s looking up at me and kiss his forehead hard.

 

 

“ _Love you.”_ The purr is acidic and he knows by the smirk that goes with it that I’m up to something. He knows they got free food but he doesn’t know why.

 

“Less! The fuck you going?!” I’m almost out of the lounge but turn to walk backwards with the same demeanour.

 

 _“Honeytrapping.”_ That clears it up for him so I’m halfway down the corridor and of course, I’m not my usual obnoxious self if I leave quietly. **“DON’T WAIT UP, BITCHES!!”**

* * *

 

 

**“Bless your cocks, lads. Someone’s about to lose theirs.”**

‘Boys’ night’ consisted of food (Dex’s again though Hux found himself becoming increasingly fond of the greasy takeaway diner food), more alcohol and a card game known as sabacc. Less was absent, undertaking something called _honeytrapping_ which Hux couldn’t even begin to fathom what it was. Knowing what he did of the wild leader of the pack though, it couldn’t be good. Just like the night before, the events didn’t seem to trouble her. Flawlessly, she’d teased and rejected him as if she did it on a daily basis and being unacquainted with the unashamed flirtation (she informed him his had been clumsy at best), he found her intriguing. She’d been correct in her sentiments. Any potential match he’d been shown prior to the destruction of Starkiller Base had all been a specific type. Meek, quiet, servile, unmarked; she was none of those things. The polar opposite to those things if anything; untamed, aggressive, enigmatic, toyingly seductive and of course, confidently beautiful.

 

 

A question or a statement echoed from nearby but so deep in his musings, Hux didn’t hear it; it drifted over him. He took another hearty bite of the messy slider, having opted for something with a bit more bite than Iktotch toast. Chewing indulgently while juices dripped into the carton below, the flavours of the different meats combined remarkably with the sauces they had been lathered in, it couldn’t be further from the meals he had become accustomed to on Finalizer, Starkiller and even the Academy. One hand held the (dribbling) slider while the other multitasked, holding both a number of cards and a plastic fork between his bony fingers. Another carton sat beside the empty one belonged to the slider, piled high with diced, deep-fried topatoes smothered with a thick and creamy Jerba cheese dressing.

 

 

So immersed in the feast, the redhead almost didn’t realize that the room had gone quiet. It took him a moment to feel the heat of two and a half gazes on him, watching every bite and every swallow; he was halfway through another chomp when his eyes slowly heightened to find theirs earnestly on him. His chewing slowed awkwardly upon the discovery that he was the center of the silence and swallowed uncouthly though the mouthful wasn’t entirely at swallowing consistency. With a careful look around at the human and two aliens, he slowly placed the slider back in the carton though didn’t bother to wipe his hand or mouth.

 

 

“I’m sorry…. I didn’t realize that was directed at me. Could you repeat that?”

 

“I said….” Mort began slowly and slightly muffled as he still chewed heartily on a spicy chunk of loaded Shili Cheese Dog. “How did last night go?” Hux had already prodded free a sticky hunk of topatoe but paused it at his mouth to regard his new colleague curiously.

 

“I’m afraid I don’t understand?” Mort’s eyebrow raised ever so slightly with a touch of impatience and while Hux noticed, he couldn’t help but wonder why.

 

“Did you fuck Less last night or not?” As any of the others could have predicted, the ex-General choked on his Ebla beer (he was more careful with choosing his drink this time), spluttering during the soft snickers of human and alien alike.

 

 _“Excuse me?!”_ He whispered with strain, massaging his throat to ease the burning of the bubbles and hoping his eyes weren’t watering too badly.

 

“You heard me.” Mort pressed on bluntly as if it was a normal question one would ask someone they didn’t really know. Balor and Draven leaned in intently as though the answer would unlock some sort of punishment. “Did. You. Fuck. Less?” Hux recalled the rigorous kiss to Mort’s forehead and the cryptic purr of _“Love You”_ that was probably the epitome of what she would call love; a vicious, scathing love, void of loyalty. He also remembered listening to a one-sided com conversation where she declared he was her lover. There had also been a reference to a sister but he assumed that was in jest to irk whoever was on the other end of the com. And now, here he was alone, bombarded with questions of last night’s escapades. All he had was her word that nothing had happened though it seemed (from what she told him) that they both fully intended upon more than just ‘nothing’.

 

 

 _“N..No!”_ Hux stammered in horrified protest and found any means of escape to be cut off by his position, wedged between Mort and Balor (Was that the name of the one eyed one?) with only a small gap between the back of his chair and the wall. He did try to push the chair back but the cyclops calmly stuck back an arm and rested it against the wall, cutting off any hope of darting to safety. The others simply exchanged a dubious glance. How was this possible? Only one night aboard the ship and already desires that hadn’t risen in years had already gotten him into trouble. Whether he cared to admit it or not and whether his negotiations showed it or not: He needed these people. Perhaps _people_ was a stretch.

 

 

“She assured me nothing happened last night! I never touched her, you must believe me! I know she’s your lover!” What Hux didn’t expect was for the scene to practically freeze. Nervously, the newcomer’s eyes flickered from side to side, waiting for something to happen and when it did; he found himself stunned. That tense, foreboding silence was shattered _by laughter._ Deep heaves and resounding roars of laughter. Confused, he looked to his right just in time to get a sincere slap on the back from the brownish-green creature beside him though Mort looked unimpressed for a brief second.

 

 

 **“I love this guy!”** The Devaronian barked through his howls and colliding his large scarlet fist with the table several times; each one making the redhead jump. **“He’s a prick but I love him!”** Helpless and clueless, Hux looked around for an explanation and noticed only the aliens were laughing while Mort bleakly waited for it to end. **“Go on, Mort! Tell him! Set him straight!”**

“She **_was_** my lover.” The younger human began after an overdramatic and exasperated sigh, leaning in slightly to older one’s personal space. “But she’s not anymore.” The consistent (if somewhat girly) giggles continued from both hulking aliens.

 

 

“But…. How? I mean…..” Surely they had their reasons but Hux couldn’t seem to come up with one. “How do you live in such close proximity to each other when you have had that kind of intimate relationship? Isn’t it…. difficult?” The giggles seemed to grow and a murmur from Balor of _“You have no idea”_ only heightened his curiosity. “Why did it end?” Perhaps it was too much of a personal question but it seemed this lot liked to dance on boundaries.

 

 

“You know what the one thing that would dampen the greatest sex of your life with the biggest psycho between the sheets would be?” Mouth slightly ajar, Hux shook his head slowly while Mort was somewhat smugly matter of fact; it would be worth it just to see the redhead’s face. “Finding out she’s your fucking **_sister_**.” And that did it. The ex-General paled beyond the shade of his shirt, fixated on Mort while the others erupted again around him. It took a moment for him to regain his faculties. He knew this crew were lacking a moral standard but _this?!_ “You can understand why my dad, or should I say _our_ dad gets squeamish about the whole thing so she, in particular, loves fucking with his head. Meh, fuck him. It’s his fault. We didn’t know.” He finished with a shrug indicating he’d accepted it a long time ago and another bite of his Dog. That was something at least.

 

 

“Doesn’t mean we let them forget it though.” Balor leaned sideways and Hux flinched, fearing another back numbing clap.

 

 

“Regardless….” The redhead managed to compose himself just enough though still on edge; it was plenty to process. “Nothing happened last night, I assure you.”

 

“What, man, did you think you were in _trouble?!”_ Mort cackled, taking another enthusiastic bite but spoke despite the debris rolling around in his mouth. “Dude, we can’t control what she does! Never could! She wants to fuck you, she’ll fuck you! I’m her brother! Balor’s known her since she was like eight, she’s his baby! And Draven’s married but his dick would rip her right open!” A solemn nod from the Devaronian across the table was barely acknowledged but Mort continued with gusto. “You got no competition here, bud! You don’t need our permission!” Whether that was comforting or not, Hux couldn’t decide but it gave him an insight into the group; they were close-knit and seemingly built up around Nalesse. “Just don’t think you’ll be the only one.”

 

 

“But you said-“

 

 

“I said you’ve no competition **ON** the ship but you’ll have plenty off it. And it’s mostly from people who have no idea how much of a crazy bitch she is. At least you have the heads up. But nah, dude, seriously. We don’t give a fuck as long as she’s happy. And if she’s not happy, it’s not us you gotta worry about. You should see the shit she’s done.” Recalling his sister’s gruesome antics appeared to have little to no effect on Mort’s appetite as he chewed heavily with an open mouth. “What she did to you was fucking **nothing**. What she’s gonna do to that dude tonight isn’t the worst she’s done either. Tread carefully, that’s all I’ll say. She’s nothing like any of your frigid Finalizer bitches.”

 

 

“Much appreciated.” Hux replied dryly, ignoring the reference to ‘frigid Finalizer bitches’, whatever that meant. Reclaiming and taking another bite from his nearly forgotten slider; unlike Mort, the ex-General had the decency to swallow before speaking again. “But I hardly think it’s appropriate. I will be leaving again once our agreed mission is completed and our paths are unlikely to cross again. Unless, of course, you choose to swear loyalty to the First Order in which case we would see an awful lot more of each other.”

 

 

“Yeah….. I don’t think that’s gonna happen.” Draven’s direct contribution earned him a curious look from the redhead and already, Mort and Balor seemed to noiselessly agree. “We haven’t chosen a side; light or dark, First Order or Resistance doesn’t matter to us. But Starkiller was a serious dick move. Don’t get me wrong, we’ve done some pretty fucked up shit ourselves…. But my wife used to frequent Hosnian Prime and I can tell you right now if she was there when you pushed the big red button, Less wouldn’t have touched you back at the cabin. ‘Cause I’d have snapped your spine in two; after I’d played with you a bit.” Hux would have been lying if he said the Devaronian’s sinister statement didn’t chill him to his core. But perhaps it was something to think about. After all, wasn’t that the reason for the bounty dogging him? People wanted revenge for their loved ones but only the rich would receive it. Hardly fair. And while he hadn’t yet been confronted with someone who had lost someone dear, Draven was close enough. He would have done the same but he would only admit that to himself.

 

 

“You ever hold a sniper blaster before?” Draven’s menacing demeanour had changed to something more casual and less threatening, he now rested the upper half of his large form against the table; as if taking in the General’s physical capability.

 

 

“Of course I have!” As if the question was something as simple as if he had been toilet trained, Hux’s indignation flared along with a blush in his cheeks though he kept himself restrained. He hadn’t quite forgotten Draven’s sentiments. “I trained with one extensively at the Academy!”

 

 

“Yeah but did you ever fucking kill anyone with it?” Balor chimed in as if the dynamics of the conversation had been rehearsed or as if they all shared the one brain which Hux was not yet privy to.

 

 

“No, genocide and Stormtroopers doing his dirty work are more his bag.” Mort answered for him with a snicker though Draven was slightly annoyed at the mention of ‘genocide’. Unfortunately, the younger human was correct in his mockery. He had always avoided direct bloodshed and even Starkiller had prevented him from getting his hands dirty.

 

 

“I have never killed anyone with a sniper blaster.” Hux confirmed with mild irritation at their accurate deciphering of his failure. Though they weren’t serious, disciplined or ordered; he couldn’t fault them in their experience or their intuition. He had witnessed it first hand against the Guavians where even a squadron of his most intensely trained Stormtroopers would have failed. “It has also been some time since I assembled one and I would not be accustomed to its weight.”

 

 

“That’s a’right.” Mort had finished his Dog and moved onto another carton of protatoe wedges, smothered in some strong smelling sauce and topped with chunks of Black Hole Peppers; his affinity for spice was obvious. “You’ll be doing it tomorrow. One of us’ll show you then you can take the shot. Now, let’s get on with the fucking game ‘cause at this rate, she’ll be back before we even get started. And she pisses me off when she plays.”

 

 

“Why?”

 

“She fucking cheats.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Job done. The Outlander Club was exactly as I remember it; just as seedy and packed full of undesirables. Myself included. Music pounding, thick with smoke, getting grinded on when I sauntered across the dancefloor; yes, I missed this place. I gotta come back here when I’m sure I’m not fucking pregnant. I found him easily enough and scoped him from a distance. It wasn’t long before he found his ideal (me) and followed the breadcrumbs. He’s not a bad looking fella, I can see why Mika likes him but he’s also a cocky fucking douchebag which she should have seen coming a mile off. Naturally; I didn’t drink anything he bought me so before he could get suspicious, I suggested we fuck off somewhere else so he just thinks I’m eager. I swear to God; guys can be so fucking thick. How could he actually believe that he comes across the perfect girl who doesn’t want to fuck around with drinks but wants to fuck around in a different way STRAIGHT AWAY. How didn’t he see it was a set up? Are they all this stupid? I must ask Mort.

 

 

Everyone’s gone to bed and I’m on my ownsome which is understandable, it’s late. I’ll be going shortly too once I finish eating. Draven put my Iktotch toast in the conserver and I prefer not to reheat it but it’s that or eat it cold so reheated it is. More dick pics in the inbox, I don’t even know who some of these are from. There’s a few I don’t recognize but I KNOW for a fucking fact that that thick gowl Mort put my holomail address in men’s cubicles in cantinas all over the fucking galaxy. If that’s not an excuse to chase your brother with an electric bantha-prod, nothing is. Balor and Draven didn’t stop me either. They bet forty credits each on how long it would take Mort to get tired. Draven won and Mort didn’t walk for three days. Now, with the way the ship is built, you can’t really tell who’s coming and going unless they’re in a hurry so the first notification I get of his presence is when the door to the fucking kitchen opens and there he is in all his lanky fucking glory. 

 

 

“Thought you’d be in bed.” I’ve called down the inbox to the home screen of myself to give my attention to him to be…. What’s that word? Oh yeah…. _Respectful._ He’s shuffled in and from the look of him, he looks like he’s been asleep or tried to. Hair tousled, Mort’s old, shabby sleep pants and a shitty vest, eyes bleary…. Plus, I don’t think he’s drunk this time.

 

 

“I came up for water, I didn’t realize you were back.” Supporting his statement, he does in fact go to the conserver and take a bottle.

 

 

“Yeah, I did what I went to do, had a nostalgic nose around and as soon as I’m finished this, I’m going to bed.” He’s watching me as he suckles the plastic neck, his Adam’s apple physically lifting and dropping as he gulps it down. I don’t remember inviting him to sit with me but regardless, he parks that bony ass across from me.

 

 

“And what **did** you go to do?” My eyes continued to be a source of fascination and I don’t know if he actually wants to know what I did or is he just trying to keep me here. The toast is little rubbery when it’s reheated so it takes me a bit longer to answer.

 

 

“My friend’s boyfriend was cheating on her. So I cut his dick off and let him bleed out. Wanna see a picture?” Of course I took a fucking picture. Mika’s gonna want it framed. It’s subtle and under the table but he totally just tightened his thighs to protect his junk and is trying not to look too traumatized.

 

 

“I…. No, thank you. That’s not necessary…. I’m curious though. You have absolutely no issue with effectively spaying a man to death yet I’m the deplorable one?” Did he seriously just fucking go there? Did he seriously just compare what I did to a **CHEATING FUCKING SCUMBAG** to what he did to Hosnian Prime? For real? Did he? He fucking did. I think he knows I’m not impressed with the comparison with the look of _“Oh fuck”_ (not that he knows how to pronounce that particular word, I’m sure) that works its way across his face when I put my fork down. I only put my fork down when A) I’m done eating or B) when I’m ‘bout to crease a bitch (verbally or physically). And there’s still food in my fucking carton.

 

 

“When we kill someone…..” I begin, dangerously breezy and he’s literally sinking back in his chair already in a vain attempt to escape the purple boring into him. “They deserve it. They’ve done something to warrant it. And when we do it; it’s usually quick, clean and effective. Today was an exception to those three things, I’ll grand you that BUT….. Tell me something….. Those kids on Hosnian Prime, those babies, unborn babies….. What did they do to you? Their biggest worry was their homework or eating all their dinner to get a cookie; what did they do to you, hmm?” Like I said, I’m not a kiddy person but I can’t help but feeling a little more disgusted than usual at the thought of Hosnian Prime with the ongoing pregnancy scare. A lot more disgusted actually. Shit, what’s happening to me? He doesn’t have an answer so I’m gonna keep going. “But you’re gonna compare some worthless fucking douchebag to millions of fucking kids so you could make a point to the fucking Resistance who still kicked your ass. Seriously, fuck you.”

 

 

“You don’t strike me as a compassionate person.” He observes nearly argumentatively, recovering with (surprise, surprise) more eye contact (does he even realize he’s doing it?); trying to be bold, trying to intimidate me again. When is he gonna figure out that that doesn’t work?

 

“Generally, I’m not.” I retort, haughty as I fucking want. “But you, shitstick, didn’t just take the biscuit. You raided the entire fucking jar. I mean, what the actual fuck?”

 

“It’s funny, Miss Du Sade…..” _Miss Du fucking Sade._ “How you can pick and choose. Last night, my activities aboard Starkiller and Finalizer didn’t factor into assisting you in disposing of Cole Varnett. And they certainly didn’t factor into whatever it was that _didn’t_ happen last night. I suppose, I shouldn’t be surprised. The likes of you doesn’t get very far with having principles and morals.”

 

“Bitch, you wanna talk about principles and morals?!” The fuck does this guy think he is?! “We’re no angels but we don’t blow up kids! As for last night, it’s some sort of glimpse at the sad fucking existence you endured before we found you! I’d rather what I am than live as a dry balls for the rest of my life!” Poking the bear and I think it’s working. He’s getting a little flushed, a little defensive and a little angsty. Come on, bitch. Snap. “You had like three glasses of Ambrostine and you couldn’t even get it up! Know what that is?! Fucking pathetic! I’m surprised you didn’t die of liver poisoning on the fucking spot!” I’ve touched a nerve, mocking his libido. Every man’s ego is built around that but to be fair, he hasn’t got a leg to stand on.

 

“I was inebriated!” Jesus, you were drunk, no wonder you don’t have any friends. Fucking lightweight. “I had absolutely no consciousness in what I was doing! And perhaps if I had, I wouldn’t have followed you!” Yeah fucking right. “I’d like to see you hold that kind of arousal under the influence!”

 

 

“Please! Drunk or sober, all I gotta do is WIPE MYSELF and I’m good to go!” He’s a little taken aback by that; he wasn’t expecting it and it was probably a tad vulgar for his taste. “Two words! Bantha! Shit! You haven’t taken your eyes off me since fucking Entooine and you fucking know it! I didn’t have to do very much to get you outta that fucking cantina, you WALKED outta there with me!” He’s stuck now. Whatever hang up he has, he’s cornered. Or maybe I’m just being vain but I doubt it. The fierce General of the First Order stood in my bedroom last night in his little boy briefs and told me he _needed it._ Don’t they say the tongue is more truthful when you can’t control it? He’s not denying it. Any of it. He’s just sitting there, gripping the water bottle a little too tightly with his nostrils flared and staring me down as per fucking usual. But even vanity couldn’t prepare me for this.

 

 

“I want to try again.”

 

“……..Scuse me?”

 

“You heard me. I said I want to try again.”

 

“You sure your balls won’t explode at the thought of it?”

 

“I have thought about nothing else since this morning and given your latest remarks I want to prove myself.” This should be entertaining. “Do you consent or do I need to go elsewhere?”

 

“First of all, no one says : ”Do you consent”, right? That’s the first thing. Second of all, watch how you fucking speak. I’ll tear that tongue straight outta your head like I did to your fucking Lieutenant.” He doesn’t get time to respond. “Thirdly, we do this on my terms. You want me to fuck the dust off your cock, we do it my way. Fucking capiche?”

 

“Very well. Lead the way.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Back to where we were last night; literally and figuratively. He’s significantly soberer than he was before and I think he’s conscious of it so he doesn’t kiss me. Which is fine; this seems to be business-like in nature anyway, why corrupt it? He’s probably used to sterile fucking; let’s give him what he wants. I’m far more confident in getting undressed because I fucking love myself. Several colourful tattoos, scars, stretchmarks, dimples, curves; I’m not perfect but I’m perfect to me and if he doesn’t like it, I don’t really give a shit; he asked to be here. Hux is being quite private about it, the stripping. He’s closed into himself which is kinda pointless, glancing up every now and then as if to check I’m not looking but there’s mirrors in here (vain); I can see him lingering on the growing nakedness whenever I chuck a piece of clothing away. Then I take my hair down and you should see his eyes widen. Toss it, play with it, loosen it, coil it and all with my back to him, watching him in the mirror; even if the raven kinks do hide the colours on my back.

 

 

“Off.” His focus is broken and he realizes there’s no going back. I said we’re doing this on my terms and we are. At least his y-fronts look a little fuller than they did last night. “Take them off and get your scrawny ass over here.” In a fumbling, desperate effort; he does it. I’m not shy when I seize his crotch but he flinches and just barely stops himself from jumping back. I’m not that callous though, I’ll flick my wrist in such a way that he’ll enjoy it (and is) but he’s still petrified. “Why are you just standing there? Touch me, grab something! Jesus Christ, you’d swear you’ve never done this before!” I can’t help being impatient but there’s still a lot of adrenaline from killing a dude. He’s fixated on the E (or F, it depends on where I shop….lift) with the cigarra burn scar and reaches out to it carefully as if it’s gonna explode and take him with it.

 

 

His hands are cold and he’s gentle with the way he cups the underneath and stares at it (both of them interchangeably); reverent as he pulls himself closer, like he can’t fucking believe this is real. And yes, my girls are real; everything about this is real. He’s closed any distance, he’s right up against me; it looks like the Little General is standing to attention after all and is twitching against my stomach. If that wasn’t enough, he’s dipped that fiery head to taste it; not the nipple or anything brash like that, just the soft flesh at the side. His lips are cold too. Those sharp hands are gliding and ghosting their way along my back, my hips and my arse; appreciating every curve (or at least that’s what it feels like) and ensuring my waist is secured in the crook of his pointed elbow. Maybe I was wrong about the sterile thing; I think he’s trying to be gentlemanly or something similar….. What the fuck does that entail?

 

 

“You ever worn a condom before?” It’s a necessary question and a deal breaker if he refuses. There’s a possibility I’m already pregnant and a possibility that I’m not. If I’m not, I want to keep it that way rather than another fucking redhead running around.

 

“Once….” Once?

 

“Right, you’re doing it again tonight.”

 

“If you insist.”

 

“I do fucking insist. D’you know how to put it on?”

 

“No….” Christ.

 

“Fine. Sit down.”

 

 

I don’t know if he remembers this from last night or not and judging by the way he’s looking at me wedged between his thighs, I’m guessing he doesn’t. The first time my tongue touches him, he stiffens with a quiet gasp but he manages to stay still which is helpful ‘cause he’s gonna be halfway back my fucking throat in a minute. He just sits there for a minute, staring down at me as if he’s unsure if he supposed to like it. I’m starting to rethink the sterile thing or maybe he just needs a while to get adjusted. Low and behold, he’s starting to cradle the back of my head with his palm; appreciate the support, bud. Cheers. But that’s it, that’s all the feedback I’m getting.

 

 

“Y’know…..” I’ve just lifted my head outta his lap with an obscene little pop, pushing back against his hand to free myself which he lets me do. “You _are_ allowed to enjoy it. That’s the point. You don’t just have to sit there static; stop restraining yourself or you’ll bust a nut before we even get fucking started.” I have a fucking hair stuck in my mouth. Chill, it’s my own. It gets everywhere and I hate tying it up, I’ll just have to throw it over my shoulder and hope it fucking stays there. “Let’s try again, shall we?” I can’t do it for too long, he won’t last but I want to wind him up a little at the same time so it’s just about being careful. Slow and sensual is usually a winner and already, he’s starting to purr. _Much better._ His hand is at the back of my neck this time, the flat of his palm pressing against my spine while the flexing tips of his fingers are massaging into my hair with every bob forward and back, forward and back. I mean….. It’s different in a nice way but I could understand it better if we were an item of some description and not effectively a one-night stand.

 

 

Feeling around the top of the dresser, the little foil packet is closed between my fingers and the crinkling of it seems to wake him from an aroused haze that he hasn’t had in a while. He’s looking down and seeking my eyes again so I let him have them, tearing the silver corner with my teeth and something changes in his face but he doesn’t move. He’s not re-thinking this or having doubts. Every movement, every bat of my lashes up at him with a clawing little smirk; everything is fueling him and even if I don’t touch him again, he’ll be able to take it from here himself. But I’m enjoying this far too much. One arm winds around my shoulders and pulls me in closer; he also keeps me there. Maybe he’s just starved but looking at him now, something’s rising that tells me he won’t be that way for much longer.

 

 

The little bubble at the top of the condom (I HOPE you all know what I’m talking about; safe sex, kids) is facing the inside of my mouth, the ring shapes my mouth and I’ve the tip pressed against the roof of my mouth to keep out the air; now we can move, it’s also very important that my teeth don’t touch it for obvious reasons. He says he’s worn one before but when the rubber starts to roll onto his shaft, he starts to squirm. It could be cold with the lube after the heat of my mouth which would explain it or I’ve wound him up the way I want to. Secure it, check it, perfect. I doubt it’s going to be too rough and tumble that it’s going to fall off anyway. One more thing before I relieve him completely…. I’m not gonna touch the condom in case I shift it but my head is back in his lap, tongue searching through every crevice of his balls and he’s moving a bit more freely as though trying to follow me. _Where is it? Where is it….? **Found it.**_ That little vein in his left nut is sucked tight and all along, he’s been watching my eyes but the second the pressure hits him, his head flies back and he _screams._ Properly fucking screams. How he hasn’t filled the johnny, I don’t know but it looks good for the night ahead.

 

 

Satisfied, I find my feet and go to strut away maybe to tease him a little bit more but I don’t get very far. Why? I’ve been grabbed with two strong but stick thin arms and dragged back to him; the animal is awake. I can see it and if you weren’t used to it, it could be taken the wrong way. Now though, my back hits the bed and any gentlemanly tendencies he had before are long gone. His full weight has about three quarters of me sandwiched against the mattress while he frantically dives for my chest again and this time, he explores the territory he didn’t before. Biting, nipping, sucking, licking; he’s fucking lost it. He shuffles up slightly so he’s looking down at me with hungry eyes and literally, all he has to do is position himself a certain way and we’re golden. But he’s just staring at me; whatever it was has extinguished, he’s looking at me, lost and anxious.

 

 

“Hux, what the fuck are you doing?!”

 

 _“I…. I don’t know.”_ I can’t even believe that pathetic little stammer. He doesn’t know! He was about to plough me a few fucking seconds ago! _“I… I don’t remember.”_ ……..What?! Don’t remember?! How doesn’t he remember how to fuck someone?!

 

“Are you shitting me?! Jesus fucking Christ! Get off! Get the fuck off me!” Hesitantly and like a kicked dog, he does. He lies down beside me with a reluctant glance sideways at me; a silent offer to leave and while the answer should either be ‘yes’ or ‘no’, I propose an alternative by straddling him with the tits he loves right into his face. “You wanted to try again and I accepted even after the utter ass you made of yourself last night.” I surmise quietly, watching the cute expression of temporary bewilderment; he might have been a military strategy mastermind but he’s fucking clueless when it comes to women and the horizontal tango. “You managed to get it up and for a minute, the General was alive again.” He tries to sit up but I roughly push him back down again and keep the pressure there on his chest with my hand, digging in my nails lightly but it doesn’t seem to bother him. “So…. You have two choices. Stick to your blasters and do what you came here to do OR tell me to get off and I will; I hear the boys’ corridor can be cold at night.” He doesn’t give a verbal answer just an enthusiastic if terrified nod.

 

 

Like I said earlier, it doesn’t take much to get me going; anticipation will do it so he can no doubt feel the warm slick grinding off him now that I’m back in tease mode. The look of absolute veneration is one I fucking deserve and I should get it a lot more but that’s another debate for another time. It’s not even a debate, it’s a matter of implementing it. Though I suspect if I was to charge that to Hux, I’d never have a self-doubt again. The initial feeling of envelopment is almost too much for him so I pause to let him settle inside me for a minute, it’s more for his sake than mine. I’m used to this but the more I look at the look of pure bliss on his freckled face, the more it strikes me this hasn’t happened in a long time. No wonder he doesn’t remember; and there’s a tiny prick of guilt for going off on him like I did but this’ll more than make up for it. Those spindly hands wind round my thighs and grip them, a silent signal that he’s ready and of course, his eyes haven’t left mine.

 

 

That first harsh intake of breath from below me is so spurring that I just want to fuck him till he’s too sensitive but that wouldn’t be fair. So for now, I’m just gonna have to restrain myself and start slow. His hips move with mine (after a little encouragement) and the grip on my thighs tightens with the more excited he gets; he also gets nosier. I’m better at being composed but this poor bastard has had one hell of a dry spell, he’s probably had it pent up for years. He ranges from low gasps to sweet little pants to pleased groans of ecstasy as I pick up my thrusts accordingly. He’s still very retrained but I won’t be long getting him out of that. I start to rock my hips a little harder, a little faster and dipping them slightly to take in even more of him; it’s too much, he can’t keep his eyes open. So like a sex toy, I’ll just keep going; ignored.

 

 

That doesn’t last very long, which I’m half pleased with, half not. It’s nice to be acknowledged but the way he sits up suddenly and yanks me to him, bodies crowded close almost as if to feign an intimacy we don’t actually have. At least he’s contributing to the thrusts now rather than leaving everything to me; it took him a while but he’s found his footing in terms of speed and pace and now that he has, he’s enjoying himself an awful lot more. You get out of something what you put into it and for the most part, fucking is an excellent example of that particular sentiment….. I sound smart today. I can feel his breath on my tits, I can feel the wet heat of his mouth around them at random intervals and the sounds of strained, renewed moans are music to my ears. He’s not gonna last much longer and we haven’t even been at it for ten minutes; I guess it’s better than nothing. Teeth gritted, eyes shut and hips banging off mine like he’s trying to kick start his heart; I’m willing to bet he hasn’t felt like this in a _long_ time.

 

 

 _“I can’t….”_ He breathes out of nowhere, riddled with effort and exertion but still pounding away. He’s crumbling, gloriously crumbling; faltering and stuttering into an almost clumsy rhythm. _“I think I….”_

“If you’re gonna do it, do it into the condom like a good lad, a’right?” Don’t think I’m not enjoying this or that I’m impatient, I’m enjoying it and I’m not impatient but he’s average and clearly, he’s forgotten plenty if he even knew it at all. But he has potential. He’s eager and keen, he’ll learn if he wants to. He’ll make a good ride for someone in time…. Not. Fuck master or not (not), he’s going back to Cole so mama can get paid twice. No sooner are the words out of my mouth; he tenses, one more bruising thrust and he just collapses against the pillows; automatically slipping out of me. I’m okay, thanks, I don’t need to come. Sweating, panting (understatement, more like heaving) and squirming restlessly as if uncertain how to deal with an orgasm, he buries his face into one of the pillows to moan into it. “You a’right?” I ask bluntly, arching the eyebrow and whipping off the condom to toss it without him even noticing.

 

 _“I think so….”_ He manages to gulp, barely lifting his head from the pillow to watch me bustle around balls naked until he feels the sag in the mattress beside him. I confess myself surprised when he hesitates for a second then shyly scoots over in the bed until he’s only a few inches from me. _“Thank you.”_

 

“You thanking me for the sex, the concern or the fact that you’re still here?”

 

 _“All of those things.”_ He’s starting to regulate his breathing, he’s calming himself and before I know it, the weight of his head has sunk down onto my chest; everybody needs a bosom for a pillow? Seems the General does. Looks like the poor fucker has been starved of more than just sex; if he’s looking for affection, I’m probably not the best person to be cozying up to. But for now, I’ll just leave him to it. I do still feel sorry for him. _“May I ask you something?”_

 

“Yeah, go for it.”

 

_“Would you mind if I had a cigarra?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is about to get A LOT filthier. And I'm not sorry.


	8. The Unusual Birthday Present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Less contacts another old 'friend'. Hux is acting strangely but is only comfortable in confiding in Nalesse. A very strange birthday present is given but in-keeping with a new pattern. Nalesse's age is also revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is always appreciated!  
> Enjoy. ;)

 

When the com buzzed into life, the male shifted with an understandable groan and a blind, useless swatting at the noise that could physically do him no harm. Naturally, the body beside him twitched too at the disturbance and turned over to put a benign distance between him and the persistent vibrating against the wood of the bedside table. He tried to ignore it, did his best to ride it out and hopefully it would stop. But what if it was an emergency? What if he was needed? What if something drastic had happened in the few hours that he’d managed to get some sleep? So the com was grabbed and the button pushed to allow him access to a yet unknown conversation.

 

_“H…Hello?”_

**“Hey handsome. Miss me?”**

_“Less? It’s four in the Goddamn morning.”_

**“Yeah, I know. I just wanted to see how you are.”**

_“Less, for fuc-“_

**“Before you curse me out of it, can you hear that?”**

_“Hear what?”_

**“Hold on a sec.”**

The unmistakable scraping of a com being moved to a better vantage point grated at Poe until he could hear it. For a second, his sleep addled brain couldn’t process it but the more he listened, the more he began to distinguish it. Snoring.

 

**“Guess who that is.”**

_“I don’t have a com book in front of me just now, Less. I don’t know who that is, it could be anyone.”_ She didn’t seem too offended.

 **“Who did you ask me for?”** That got his attention. Poe slowly sat up with the com to his ear, the light sheet falling away from his bare chest, even more cooling on yet another humid night that had plagued the Resistance on D’Qar. It couldn’t be. Cole Varnett had him. He mightn’t have announced it but everyone knew.

_“Less, is that….?”_

**“You got it, honey. That is the unconscious mating call of General Hux.”**

_“But… Cole has him. Everyone knows Cole has him!”_

**“Cole _did_ have him. But it turns out the General is a lot more slippery than we thought. He managed to escape and Cole wasn’t gonna advertise it in case someone found him before we did.”**

_“But… Why are you comming me? Just to dangle the carrot? Nice, Less. Thanks for that.”_

**“Poe Poe, baby, that’s not it. Listen to me. Cole is only getting him back temporarily. See, that prick made a fatal mistake. He sent the Guavians after us, he wanted to see who’d win in a shoot-out. Needless to say, I’m not pleased about that-“**

_“Wait, you killed the Guavians?!”_

**“Not me, Balor did. Anyway, Hux escaped from Cole’s place so we made him a deal. He helps us get in whatever back door he slithered out of, help us ice Cole and we’d drop him off somewhere quiet.”**

_“Are you out of your FUCKING MIND??!! You’re gonna-!”_

**“Poe, I love your voice but shut the fuck up for a second. I still haven’t told you what I want you for. As soon as Cole is done, Hux ain’t going anywhere. He’s coming with us. So, as my friend and no longer the lover I think about when I masturbate-“** If Poe’s eyes had been adjusted, he would have rolled them. **“I wanted to give you a shot like I said I would. I don’t know nor do I fucking care what you wanna do with General Gingernut here, don’t give a shit. But when we’re done with him, he’s going back on the market. I’m giving you the heads up to get funds together.”**

_“Less, we don’t have the funds to match the other offers you’re gonna get.”_

**“You don’t which is why you need time to start talking to the other rich do-gooders that want ‘justice’. Get sponsorship, Organa’s good at diplomacy. There’s bound to be people out there that want it done nice and official, diplomatic like. So get on it. Get the money together and he’s yours. Don’t and he goes elsewhere.”** He wasn’t going to get an offer like that anywhere else; it seemed she had a knack for giving exceptional chances.

 _“I’ll talk to the General. Maybe she knows…. Wait a minute….”_ Why did she have the slumbering General in such a close proximity? Oh Less, no…. _“Did you sleep with him?”_ The answer was a little slower in coming than he would have liked.

**“…….Maybe.”**

_“I’d yell at you but I don’t wanna wake Finn. Seriously, next time I see you, we’re gonna have a long talk about standards. Less, that guy is evil!”_

**“What are those? And it was once, I wanted to see how far the rod was lodged. Turns out, pretty far. He didn’t know how to fuck me. _I_ had to fuck _him_. And we both know I’m no angel, Poe. Besides, d’you know how few redheads are in the galaxy? I had to taste me some of that.” ** Too much information, Less.

_“I…. Wow. Okay. I really didn’t need to know that but okay, thanks for sharing.”_

**“You have about two months to get your funds in line, contact who you can, make friends. I’ll com you when we’re rid of Cole.”**

The line went dead but Poe still sat up in the dark with the com to his ear, listening to the squall of a terminated call. She had him. She had the General. She offered him to them and all they had to do was pay; he assumed that meant if nothing happened to him in the meantime. The Brax were ruthless, if he irritated them in even the smallest way, there was no guarantee of his safety. Or was there? He was worth more than Poe could even put a figure on, would they tolerate him for that? Lead him into a false sense of security and trust? It was so close now, the justice was so close it was palpable and gave the pilot a fresh motivation.

 

 _“Poe? Wasgoinon?”_ Having almost forgotten his partner was there, the older of the two slipped back down among the sheets and pressed a kiss to Finn’s shoulder.

“She’s got him. She’s got General Hux.”

 

* * *

 

 

Okay, I really didn’t expect this to happen but…. It happened so I’m gonna fucking go with it, I like surprises, who doesn’t? It’s been a week since that first night…. Well, second night. We won’t count the first for the sake of pride; mine and his. Up until now, it’s been pretty vanilla; clothes off, penis in vagina and with his lack of experience, I wasn’t expecting much. It’s also worth mentioning that I didn’t expect it to keep happening. He just came back the second night with his hat in his hand (not literally) and shyly asked me for more like fucking Oliver. Fair enough, I wasn’t doing anything (or anyone) at the time so thought “Why not?” and it just kinda went from there. After the first week is where it gets weird. He’s been restrained for a long time and I mean **a long fucking time.** It’s actually fucking sad how depraved this poor bastard’s been, unable to indulge in anything, let alone the stuff that’ll actually eat you from the inside if you don’t appease it. It’s in some people but not in most. And it’s in this fucker.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Remember the time just before the Guavians attacked, Hux was on the floor and I had my foot on his throat while I berated him for being a racist cunt? Turns out that did _a lot_ more for him than I thought it would. Or could even imagine in my wildest dreams. So (and I still have trouble processing this, it just doesn’t fit), here I am in a black matching lace set (his choice, I just put it on) with the flat sole of the stiletto boot pressing down hard on his throat again. The only difference now is wardrobe. I’ve got significantly less on and he has even less than that. He’s lying on my bedroom floor, ballock naked with my foot at varying degrees of pressure on his Adam’s apple and cranking himself at just the right pace. Gasping in pain, pleasure and a struggle to breathe; his face is as purple as the purple above him his eyes are so desperately seeking.

 

He releases a kind of whimpered sigh as the leather loop of the riding crop trails down his bare chest and that’s the first time he breaks eye contact. That fiery head rolls to the side on the cushion and his eyes close; naturally, I can’t have that. He’s slipped sideways slightly out of my grasp when he turned so I release him just for the briefest second, hook my toe and the curve of my foot around his throat and literally haul his head back into the agreed position: facing up. Sure, it’s probably not a nice experience…. For a normal person. Hux just grunts and picks up the speed of his hand, his pre-cum working as a lubricant. I’m not done though. To punish that, my foot is back on his throat and three sounds happen at once, each one a consequence of the other but seemingly occurring together. First there’s the _whooshing_ of the whip in two directions, back and forth. As if overlapping it, there’s the **cracking** when it collides with the white meat of his thigh and lastly, there’s the agonized if excited moan coming from below.

 

 _“I told you not to move.”_ He likes the cold, unpredictable bitch above him and I give myself a little pat on the back for my acting. _“What did I tell you?”_

_“Not to… move…. Ah… Ah….”_

_“Don’t be so disgusting. I don’t want to hear you pleasure yourself, you fucking cretin.”_

_“Bu…. **kkkhhhahahhh…”**_ That’s not a random jumble of letters, that’s the sound he makes when I press down fully on his throat; kinda like on the pedal for a sewing machine _._ Now, he’s throttling himself, like properly fucking going for it. All I can hear is him trying to breathe and this gross, wet squelching sound as he fucks his own hand. He’s still choking but he doesn’t want me to stop just yet. He knows the signal, all he has to do is tap my foot twice and I’ll step off; safe, sane, consensual even if it’s hot to think it’s none of those things. Closer and closer he’s crawling to his peak; I’m standing over him, scrutinizing every flick of his wrist, contortion of his face and every jerk that should relieve him but doesn’t yet.  

 

 _“Look at me when you’re fucking yourself, you simpering little bitch.”_ He’s bigger than me and older than me (I mean; he has to be, surely he wouldn’t be a General so young?) but he does as mammy tells him. His eyes find mine and while he’s looking up, longing to please, I’m looking back down indifferent and condescending. I’m so fucking good at this but I have to remind myself that he used to take orders from _no one._ He commanded thousands of Stormtroopers, hundreds of base staff and ran Starkiller Base, a weapon at least ten times the size of the Death Star. He also ran Finalizer and managed to keep Kylo Ren on something of a leash, that shit ain’t easy. But he did it and now all he wanted was to be taken down a few pegs in the bedroom. He can’t go any harder or faster than he’s going now, it’s a waiting game at this stage. Naked, exposed and mildly humiliated, he doesn’t look like he’s ever been happier; I suppose it’s relief in more ways than one. Especially when there’s that last, relief-addled moan intertwined with a series of desperate pants while the little ribbons of white just hurl in every direction; he’ll learn how to control that in time. That’s my cue to step off him to a huffing exhale.

 

“Clean yourself off.” He’s still recovering on the floor with his chest heaving and a slight ring of wheezing when he breathes. For a tiny second, he looks confused and looks like he’s about to protest he doesn’t have anything to do that with…. Until I toss my panties at him. I give him maybe thirty seconds and watch him carelessly while he mops his legs and ignore him when he tries to hand the cum-soaked lace back to me. “Keep it. Souvenir.” Shyly, he lowers the garment and watches from the corner of his eye as I strip off the bra and toss it elsewhere.

 

_“Thank you.”_

“You really gotta stop thanking me every time we have sex or do something that resembles it, it’s really fucking sad.” With the sheets eased back and my ass hauled in, he’s still sitting on the floor, probably waiting for an invitation. Sighing, I crawl down the bed and pop my head over the side, just above him. “Hurry up and get showered, I wanna go to fucking sleep.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The next day (and night) are normal enough. It’s the day after that stands out. Usually; if we have a job, Hux is hands on, he knows he has to contribute. It’s certainly beneficial to have a master strategist on board, he’s made us look at things from a new perspective and new ways of doing things; he might actually be enjoying himself. I know he is at night time. So it strikes me as odd when we’re all standing around a map, trying to find a way through a particular system without being seen and therefore stopped and searched (we picked up some organs from a guy on Akiva to be transported to a dealer on Lothal, not exactly legal). I don’t just swan around the ship and fuck my way through the galaxy, by the way. I do actually work.

 

“I got nothing, anyone else?” The murmurs of “Nah”, “Nothing” and “Nope” are disheartening so I try the ace-card; the one who has yet to fail. “Hux? Anything?” He’s not even looking at the map. He’s staring off into the distance as if **that** contains the answers. “Hux? Hello? Tatooine to Ginger Nut, you there?!” He gives his head a little shake as if there’s a small bug barely annoying him buzzing around it, looks at the map, then at me.

 

“No, I don’t see a way.”

 

Long and short of it is, Draven found a way (told you he was clever) so it’s literally a case of sitting back, relaxing and letting someone else do the driving. Except I’m not relaxing. I can’t. We cleared off a seat for Hux behind me and Mort and he’s just staring off into nothing, dejected. What the fuck is wrong with him? He was fine yesterday and last night. As far as I know, no one said or did anything to him; he was able to take that banter quite well from the start. So what the fuck is it? He doesn’t even notice that I’m blatantly turned in my seat, staring at him and trying to figure him out. And why do I give a fuck? He’s cargo; sure, interactive cargo but cargo.

 

“What the fuck did you do to him?” Looks like I’m not the only one who noticed. Mort’s turned now and looking between the two of us.

“I didn’t do anything. I dunno what the fucks wrong with him. He was fine last night.” Not matter how out of it Hux is, he can’t not notice the Incest Twins staring back at him, almost slack jawed. There’s a bare mutter, excusing himself and he just leaves the control room. We don’t see him again until it’s time to start unloading and when that’s done, he just slinks back to wherever he hid himself before; presumably his room. Did we break the General?

 

* * *

 

 

For the first time in a week, I’m in bed on my own. I thought he might show but nothing so I just thought “Fuck it” and went to sleep. At some weird, ungodly hour there’s a whirring that my sleep addled brain can just barely process as the door opening and there he is; I can barely see him ‘cause I don’t wanna open my eyes fully but I know it’s him. He’s filled out a bit since we picked him up again on Bador; I think it’s all the shitty food. He’s always quite meek, even in the way he walks but I’d imagine he wasn’t always like that. Shoulders dropped, head down, rubbing a pallid hand off his upper arm; he sidles over to the bed, knowing his way in the dark by now. He doesn’t address me, no “Hello”, “Good evening” or “Fuck yourself”, just silently pulls back the covers and slides in beside me. That’s not enough for him though; he’s in the bed about ten seconds before he’s literally on top of me. No, not like that. His head is on my chest and the rest of him is just kinda thrown there, sprawled with limbs everywhere. And like earlier, he just stares off into nothing, eyes open with seemingly no intention of sleeping.

 

“Uhh….” Not even a blink in response. It’s like I’m just a pillow with tits. Or the tits are the pillow and the rest of me is just…. Here. I’d love to know what the breast fascination is, I really would. Was he breastfed? “You wanna tell me what the fuck was up with you today?” The pause is so long, I get the impression he’s not even going to answer me so I just roll my eyes and start to lie back down, taking the gangly fucker with me. It’s only when we’re fully settled and I’m starting to close my eyes to go back to sleep that he decides to answer me.

 

 _“Today is my mother’s thirty fifth anniversary_. _”_ He heightens those puppy dog eyes to the clock. _“Or rather, yesterday was._ ” _Oh Jesus Christ, why did I fucking ask?!_ Like…. What do I even say to that? He does get that we’re not an item, not cuddle bunnies, not anything other than fucking each other? But…. I’m not completely heartless; it’s obviously killing him, he hasn’t been himself all day so what the hell, I’ll bite.

 

“I’m sorry to hear that.” …..Should I keep going? I’m not that good at being sympathetic ‘cause no one was ever sympathetic with me but fuck it, he sounds like he needs it, I should still try. “What happened to her?” Again, he doesn’t answer straight away. Oh Christ, it must be bad.

 

 _“I happened to her.”_ Oh my fucking God, what have I let myself in for?! Stop talking, Less. Jesus Christ, stop talking. You’d think that if I’m gonna listen to anyone that I’ll listen to myself but obviously not. Seriously, Less, stop fucking talking. But….

 

“You happened to her? What the fuck does that mean?” My sensitivity isn’t the best; it’s obviously hard for him to talk about but he’s talking to someone with the emotional range of a fucking teaspoon. The lag in his answers should maybe hint that this is distressing but muggins here doesn’t see it. It’s like he just wants to talk about it, force himself to, even if he doesn’t get the most empathetic response; anyone is better than no one.

 

 _“She died giving birth to me.”_ It’s hard for me to convey just how much grief and heartbreak is tumbling from those lips now. And I made him fucking say it. He’s still staring off into nothing; as if she’s there somewhere watching over him but staying close into my chest with his arms clinging around my torso. There’s a strain in his voice and I can’t ignore it, no matter how short his answers are; I don’t think I could deal with a dude crying in my bed though I think he came dangerously close the first time we did the dirty thing. In an unexpected move; he starts to pull away, hoisting himself up and away from me. _“I’m sorry I woke you. I’ll go back to bed now.”_ I might be a cunt but I can’t let him go off on his own in that fucking state.

 

“No, hang on.” He’s not out of range yet so I drag him back and secure him with my own arms crossed carefully across his neck; it’s a little more intimate than any of our usual entanglements but this is something of a special circumstance. He doesn’t fight me but he hesitates for a second before settling back into his original position. He’s quiet and it seems that’s the end of it, I might be able to get back to sleep. Until…

 

 _“Nalesse….”_ So much for sleep. _“I’m afraid I’m in no position to do anything tonight so if my appearance gave you the wrong impression, it was not my intention-“_

“You should’ve told us it was your birthday.”

 _“Why? It’s hardly appropriate to celebrate it. I keep to myself and think about her, what **I** did to her.” _ Where do I even begin with him?

 

“Well, we would’ve gotten you a cake or a present or a lapdance or something….” He probably wouldn’t have wanted to indulge in those things, given his attitude but surely some bit of normality wouldn’t hurt? “I’m getting the impression and correct me if I’m wrong, that you’ve never really spoken about this. Am I right?”

 

_“Who would I have spoken to about it? My father didn’t care, my step-mother hated me, I could hardly confide in anyone at the Academy or at the Order. But you…. I trust you.”_

“You. Trust. Me. Why? What the fuck have I ever done to win trust?”

_“You are quite possibly the most realistic human being I have ever met. You’re strong, capable, wise-“_

“I dunno ‘bout wise-“

_“I do. You’re brave, beautiful and the last week has been an eye opener of just how secluded I’ve been despite being surrounded constantly. You have overhauled everything I believed about what a woman should and should not do, how she should and should not behave, what she should and should not look like-“_

“What’s wrong with the way I look?”

_“Absolutely nothing, quite the contrary. I’m referring to your tattoos, your scars, everything I cannot ignore when you have nothing on. Those eyes I still stare at when they’re long closed, the hair that would make Medusa envious-“_

“Cheers. Look…. You can’t torture yourself like this. What happened, happened. I’m sure if she was given a choice, she would have preferred for you to live. She chose you, she gave herself up so that you could have a chance; you can’t repay her by wallowing in self-pity ‘cause it’s a fucking insult.” Compromise? “Or if you insist on doing it, use your actual birthday for mourning and use the day after for celebrating. Thank her for what she did by enjoying your fucking life; one day to cut loose won’t fucking kill you.” I think I’ve reached him. Also, brushing aside all those nice things he said is proving more difficult than it’s ever been before.

_“Very well. Tomorrow, I’ll do something but I would request you are part of it.”_

“Sounds good, now go to sleep.”

 

* * *

 

 

I’m back to square fucking one in being lost where this ginger fucker is concerned. Normally, if I ask someone what they want for their birthday, I don’t get this answer. You’ll see what I mean.

 

* * *

 

 

"Have you ever done this before?"

"I have not, no."

"Okay... But you want to try it now?"

"Now is as good a time as any."

"Right but... Why didn't you ask Mort?"

"I’ve told you before that I trust you." Of all people to trust (with anything, let alone this), he trusts me. "Besides, I believe you're equipped for it." Weirdness intensifies.

 

I really don't wanna cut my nails but I'll seriously hurt him if I don't. That's not even a 'might' hurt him. I'll definitely hurt him and while pain can be a pivotal part of any sexual experience, maybe not for a first time; I wanna encourage him, not make him hesitant. There's ten clips and each one makes him jump, each one hitting the floor makes him flinch; yeah, he's nervous. He's sitting (almost naked) on the bed, trying not to watch me cut them but if he's having second thoughts, he's not admitting it. And he knows I'll only give so many chances. Guess I'll be wearing fakes for a while till they grow back.

 

"Did you take a shit?" He should be used to the eloquence (or lack thereof) by now. I don't think it's the language that's making him uneasy though. It’s a different kind of quietness to last night. Last night he was heartbroken over his mother, now he’s nervous.

 

"Yes."

"Did you have a shower?"

"My hair is still wet."

"Fair enough, just checking." The appearance of the bottle of lube excites and unnerves him by the way he's subtly squirming on the bed; like a typical virgin.

"How'd you want to do this?"

"You're the experienced one, guide and I'll follow."

"A'right then. C’mere. Hands and knees, back to me."

 

He's essentially about to lose his virginity all over again; that can be nerve wracking for anyone, why not the fearsome General? I only remember bits and pieces of losing my virginity, it was a long time ago but I do remember there was a lot of blood that wasn't mine (okay, a little bit of it was mine) and someone crying that wasn't me. Nice and easy does it, especially when he’s kneeling on the edge of the bed trying not to tremble and presenting himself as I told him to do. He’s not the only one on his knees, mine are on a cushion down beside the bed because of the height difference.

 

It’s like it hasn’t even occurred to him to touch himself but I’m not gonna overload him, physically or mentally. Not yet, at least. The tension is mounting and while he commanded Starkiller and Finalizer, I bet he never thought he’d be in the position, despite wanting to be. He stiffens when he feels a hand on each cheek, pulling them apart and separating them for the purpose of the birthday request. There’s a soft but audible swallow at the first slow brush of my tongue against the up-until-now inexperienced, puckered little hole in front of me; so far, so good. This is only the first of a few stages but I’m committed to the role of deflowerer so I’m gonna work this with all the care that (not everyone would get, by the way) this endeavour deserves. I’m just trying to get him comfortable at the moment but it makes it easier that he’s trusting me, he’s letting me do what he knows I can and overall, he’s benefitting.

 

He's comfortable now so it’s time to shift the tone a little. The strokes of my tongue have evolved to tiny, amiable thrusts, just barely opening and pushing past the elastic ring of flesh to begin loosening him up. He’s starting to enjoy it now, before it was as if he was afraid to indulge but now he’s knows there’s no consequences, only rewards. He’s shifting his weight from knee to knee, probably a premature action since I’ve only just barely started. I wouldn’t have thought it when we found him on Entooine or Bador but he cleans up well. Gross and all as this is gonna sound, I can taste it. C’mon, I have my tongue in his asshole, if I can’t taste anything (well, I can, I can taste soap), he must’ve fucking scrubbed himself.

 

 _“Ohhh….”_ Jaw hanging open and the sheets gathered up into bundles under each hand, his head’s dropped, his chin meeting his chest as if each pant is too heavy for him to keep it up. My tongue is still digging and digging, wiggling and twirling with each dive to tickle the inside of his rectum but it can only go so far. He relaxes, relieved of the break but also disappointed by it when I withdraw my tongue. His head lifts and turns as far as his muscles will allow, his curiosity heightened by both the pause and the lid of the lube bottle clicking.

 

“This is gonna be cold.” I warn him out of fairness. “But it’ll warm up quickly. Just brace yourself.” On my feet with the cushion kicked away, I coat the fingers of my right hand first then squirt enough down into the hole that seems to be breathing on its own, expanding and contracting in anticipation to a benign snarl when the promised cold hits him. One finger to begin with and go from there. The goal is three and with three, I know he’s ready. If he can’t take three, we’ll just have to wait for another time but at least we’ll have loads of groundwork done. The first (trimmed) finger slides in with little resistance, only a pleasured squirm and whimper from ahead. Just like with my tongue, I’m going to start slow; my index finger is gliding in and out and being met with slight sighs of enjoyment while my left hand holds both his cheeks open.

 

The first finger is a success so the next logical step is the second one. I can’t see his face, he’s buried it in the sheets but I can hear him groaning at the better reach and more exact pressure to his prostate: the magical organ. That and his prick is so stiff, I’m surprised it hasn’t injured him by the way it’s stabbing into his abdomen. Of course, I want to hit the right spot so thrusting down towards his stomach, just before his rectum is the way to do it and if it didn’t get him wound up before, it’s gonna do it now with twice the force and thickness. He’s taking it well, I have to say, for a first timer at least. Usually when I use this arm, it’s plunging into a pussy not a dude’s hole but the change is nice and those noises are _very_ encouraging.

 

I slow the thrusts for just a second to check there’s still enough lube before I add a third finger after a few minutes of just two. I’m trying to keep changing to stop him from getting too comfortable and bored. The third finger is received with a louder, more intense groan and I think he knows what’s coming next but I’ll keep this going for a while. Index and ring finger clasped together and ‘fuck you’ finger on top; combined, they’re slightly smaller than Fred so when the time comes, I’ll simply be upping the ante again like I’ve always been doing. I’ve been relatively easy on him up until now but as per the birthday boy’s request, it’s not going to stay that way. So…. I bit his arse cheek. The most delicious yelp reaches my ears and I can’t tell if it’s from the quickened, hardened thrusting or the bite but he’s grabbed a pillow and is now clinging to it for dear life.

 

My right hand is soaking and aching from finger fucking his hole. My left hand is sore from holding him open and he’s barely managing to contain himself; it’s time. Earlier on, while he was still in the refresher, I took Fred out but hid him under a towel; Hux didn’t need to see him just then ‘cause he might start rethinking the whole thing if he does or just abandon the venture completely. If he saw him before he got worked up, he might bail and disappoint himself. However, if he sees him **after** he gets worked up, he’ll get excited. And he’s more than worked up now. My fingers slow to a stop and a huffing exhale while he tries to look over his shoulder again but it seems his upper half is almost too weak and strained.

 

_“What are you-?”_

“Ssshhh….. I got this. Just relax. Take a breather while I get your birthday present.” So…. This is kinda a first for both of us. Fred has never met a male conquest but I’m resourceful, I can improvise. I’ll just have to do a little more prep and then treat his arse exactly like a pussy. A pussy is self-lubricating; most assholes are not so more lube. A pussy is meant for stretching during childbirth, the biggest thing an ass is supposed to birth is a turd so start small and work up as I’ve been doing. His prostate is like two or three inches before his rectum so unlike a cunt, deeper is not necessarily better. When I pull away completely, he looks for me again but this time with a tiny twinge of dread and thrill. Towel removed, thong discarded (it’s his birthday, he went through my drawers), Fred stepped into and secured; it’s been a while since me and Fred did this. That compact, puckered hole is unrecognisable now. It’s gaping and twitching, waiting for the next sacrifice to swallow.

 

_“I want to see it.”_

“You sure about that, big guy?”

 _“It’s my birthday present and I **want** to see it.”_ Big talk for a man who’s on his hands and knees and about to get his asshole fucked. But who am I to deny him? Let him see what’s about to clog him up so I walk around with all black, nine inches of Fred and stop just beside his face. I expected a reaction and the colour draining from his face will do just nicely.

 

“That enough for ya?”

_“I assume you’ll be lubricating it?”_

“I was gonna see how you’d do without it first but-“

_“Nalesse!”_

“Of course I’m gonna fucking lube it. Jesus Christ, there’s better ways for you to be able to see your rectum rather than me parading it around the room on the end of a fucking strap on. In fact, if you want it lubed so bad…. Suck it.” His expression blanks for only a second but I gotta hand it to him, he fucking does it. Slow and a little unsure at first but he crans his head forward and gingerly takes the tip in between his lips before hesitantly starting to bob over and back on it. Fair fucks to him is all I’ll say and I know if I was a dude and this cock was real, I’d be enjoying it. That doesn’t mean I can’t pretend but I don’t want to do this for too long and have all my hard work wasted when his hole closes up.

 

 _“Good boy....”_ Demeaning and condescending as before with a fistful of his hair, he moans around it and keeps taking more and more as if his fucking life depends on it; he actually has blowjob skill. I don’t need to move my hips to drive the toy but fuck it, I’m doing it anyway. If this was real, I doubt he’d be shown mercy. _“Do you like that?”_

_“Mmmm…..”_

_“You belong in a brothel; you know that?”_

_“Mmmhmmm….”_

_“Where you can be used and tossed aside like the dirty little bitch you are.”_

_“Mmm…. Mmmm….”_

_“I’m going to destroy your asshole and make you squeal like a starved little piggy. You won’t sit right for days and when someone asks you why, you’re going to tell them what I did to you. Are you going to squeal like a little piggy for me?”_

_“Mmmm…. Yes…. Anything.... Please….”_

_“I didn’t tell you to stop, **whore**.” _ He’s only on it again for a few seconds before I use the fistful to drag him off carelessly with an obscene little _pop._ The little beads of pre-cum gathering on his tip are collected on my fingers and smoothed down over the latex where Hux’s saliva is already shining in droplets but it’s not enough; if I enter him like this I _will_ hurt him. Demeanour aside, I don’t actually want to do that so the lube is located and generously squirted and spread with a little more directed into his anus and dispersed with my fingers to reintroduce him to the sensation.

 

“You a’right?”

_“Yes.”_

“You ready?”

 _“Yes.”_ Cheeks spread again, he parts his legs a little more when he feels Fred’s cool head teasing at his entrance and the lube makes it possible for me to just slip in without too much hassle.

 

_“Oooohhhh…..”_

_“Shut up.”_ Inch by inch, Fred starts to disappear into the pale, quivering arse of the General (which is like a peach, by the way) and eventually, he’s lost completely, buried to the hilt. Once he’s totally submerged, I pause for a minute to let him settle, to get used to having something other than his own head up there and there’s that unconscious signal in that little shuffle of his knees; he’s ready to keep going. My thrusts start to roll again, gentle to begin with but he wants to keep up that master/bitch façade so I won’t let him get too complacent. When there’s less resistance from his anal muscles, that’s when my hips begin to snap back and forth with little concern for if he’s ready or not. His hair is grabbed again and pulled back; yes, I see the resemblance in this and what Cole did to me but I’m perfectly capable of doing this without making comparisons to that shit-weasel. I watch porn too, y’know.

 

 _“AAAGH…. Yes! Gods…..YES!!”_ Hard, fast, doggy style; yeah, I think he’s enjoying himself. That strangled howl is enough to tell me and thank fuck we’re down in my room ‘cause we’d have alerted the boys by now if we were in his.

 _“That’s it. Sing for me, you filthy little slut.”_ I have great leverage the way I am but…. I want to make this the best experience that I possibly can so I stop for literally for a few seconds save for the slow grinding while I readjust myself. Instead of standing beside the bed, I’m half kneeling, half crouching behind him; enough that my chest can meet his back and I can see the side of his face when I pull back his hair. The bruising thrusts resume to a whole new shuddering chorus of screams, moans and random exclaims of pure bliss.

 _“Harder…. Please…. Faster…..”_ His wish is my command and granted with the fresh sounds of skin slapping off faux skin and the gasping whimper when I drag my tongue, long and slow up the side of his face.

_“Your little virgin hole isn’t tight anymore.”_

_“No…”_

_“I don’t think you were entirely truthful when you said it was your first time. I think you’ve let it be used before. I think you like alien cocks stuffed up there, don’t you, **General?** ”_

_“Aghah…. Yes….!”_

_“Mmm…. Thought so. Passed around with that lovely little hole being used over and over again. I wish I could come in it. I wish I could fill it up and watch it drip out.”_

_“Please…. “_

_“You know I would if I could.”_ He’s gonna have trouble walking tomorrow.

 _“Nalesse…. I can’t…. I need to.”_ So like the bitch I am, I withdraw completely and stand back while he tries to cope with losing that feeling of fulfilment. Outraged and pink-faced, the virgin twists on his side to look back at me stroking my cock, waiting to see what he’ll do. _“What are you doing?! I was about to-!”_

_“Turn over.”_

_“I….”_

_“I said fucking turn over!”_ He doesn’t need to be told a third time. He rolls onto his back like a beetle and there’s a very brief look of relief when I sweep over to him again, back to the side to the bed. His eyes close, his face contorts and his mouth hangs open when I push in (less than gentle) again and immediately resume the damaging movements that’s going to leave him bruised and worse.

 

 _“Why?”_ His eyes are open again and searching for purple in mine; it reminds me of what he said earlier. Does that mean he’s been watching me sleep?

 _“Because….”_ I begin, enjoying every facial twitch with every connecting lash of my hips against his backside. _“I want to see your face when you come all over yourself like the sweet little anal virgin you are.”_ Chest to chest, I take another bite outta him but dangerously close to his jugular that has him whining like a bitch. He doesn’t last very long after it. I pull back in just enough time to hear that rumbling wail and see him decorate his own stomach with white scatterings of cum before he collapses back, exhausted. I can just about feel his anal muscles contracting around Fred and so I very carefully ease him out, unstrap him and let him fall away to be cleaned later (always clean your toys).

 

Still on his back, Hux is dragging in heavy pants and forcing out poisonous exhales behind the darkness of closed lids until he feels me kneeling on the bed in between his legs. The tip of his cock is the first to feel the cleansing stroke of my tongue then his general groin area, the little spatter zone on his thighs, his abdomen and his stomach. While I’m cleaning off every drop, his arm is draped loosely but affectionately across my back and moving with me as I move. His eyes open when my shadow invades his face and automatically, he sits up with an open mouth with his tongue caressing mine and swirling his own cock juice between the two. There’s a medium pressure on my throat where his whole hand has encased, pressing slightly but stroking my cheek with the thumb until we mutually swallow whatever we have. He doesn’t let me go and continues stroking, all the while revelling in the purple and the post-orgasm peace.

 

_“Happy birthday, big guy.”_

_“Thank you.”_

_“You like ‘em younger, huh?”_

_“Meaning?”_

_“You’re thirty-five, aren’t you?”_

_“Yes?”_

_“Yeah, well, I’m only twenty eight.”_


	9. Meet the Clitoris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nalesse wants to settle the score where orgasms are concerned, Mort underestimates Hux with painful consequences and Balor and Draven aren't very good at listening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do leave feedback and tell your friends!  
> Can you spot the Suicide Squad reference?  
> As Useless As Each Other is next!

_Well, I had me a boy, turned him into a man_

_I showed him all the things that he didn't understand_

 

 

He's in the sanisteam but when he gets out, he's gonna fucking _learn_. Last night was his birthday present but in the last week and a half, if I've come, it's been an accident. I suppose I've been so taken up with making him want to stay and ultimately letting him enjoy himself that I've been too generous and forgotten about myself. Well, not _forgotten_ but letting it slide. He's still shy and I can't fathom why after everything we've done; the most depraved of stuff and he still covers himself when he’s getting dressed or undressed. Even if we shower together (saving water anyone?), he faces away or bends his knee and angles his waist a certain way so I can’t see his cock. Seriously, who fucking cares?

 

At the same time, it kinda makes me disappointed that I can’t rile him to such a degree that he just disregards everything; I’ve never had a problem doing it before, why is he so different? Is it so bred into him about modesty and shame that he doesn’t want to be seen naked? That this kinda behavior is _disgusting?_ That we’re no more than _animals?_ Well, I can’t live without humping like a Gotiard so fuck the haters. When he does finally come out, he has a towel around his middle (case and point about the modesty) with another one drying his hair like a priss. He's so taken up with drying his hair that he doesn't even look up until he eventually feels the burning; that grabs his attention. He stands there staring at me like a lost child, water dripping from his hair and beard; fond memories of Entooine.

 

"Is something wrong?"

"Depends on what you mean by wrong."

"What did I do?"

"It's more what you didn't do, Red." He doesn't react to the names anymore. No, but what he does do is lean down and ever so tenderly push his lips to mine. What the fuck?! When have I ever asked for a good morning fucking kiss?! Well, I've never asked for it but he does it anyway. Every. Fucking. Morning. He pulls back when I don't respond, desperately searching my face for some sort of clue and is even more thrown by the impatient grumble I just can't hold back.

 

"What didn't I do?" Why does he have to be so fucking pitiful?! He's making it hard to be mean to him!!

“Your fucking beard is dripping on my fucking pillow.” He looks down at the tell-tale droplets on the fabric and quickly draws back, rubbing a hand underneath the whiskers with painful murmurs of apology but still watches me from a distance. He still can’t figure out what it is or rather, what it isn’t. On a side note, I’m amazed he’s walking straight. Okay, this is getting annoying. “Tell me something.” I didn’t think he could straighten anymore but he does, as if someone’s shaken that fucking rod up his hole. The tone is nonchalant and suggests he might be about to get the answers he’s looking for so of course, he’s more than eager to answer. “Have you ever had a pet?” Maybe it’s not what he’s expecting but I wasn’t expecting to go a week and a half without a proper fucking orgasm either.

 

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s a simple question. Have you ever had a pet? A dog? A bird? A fish? A fucking cat to stroke on your chair of doom? Any of the above?”

“I…. I had a kitten as a child. Her name was Millicent and she was-“

“I don’t give a fuck.”

“But you asked….”

“Did you feed the cat?”

“Of course I did. Nalesse, I’m not quite sure what-“

“So the cat was companionship and you fed her in return, sustain her so she could continue to keep you company, yes?”

“Yes but I can’t-“

“So why am I any fucking different?!” He’s at a loss and it’s even more pathetic that his hair’s still fucking dripping. What he offers me is even more so.

“You’re capable of feeding yourself?” _Holy fucking shit, this is torture. IT’S LIKE PULLING FUCKING TEETH!! HE DOESN’T GET THAT THIS ISN’T JUST ABOUT FUCKING HIM!! LITERALLY!!_ Swiveling on my ass to sit on the side of the bed, he looks slightly afraid that his answer wasn’t the right one. He’s right to ‘cause my face is like fucking thunder and I’m not wearing anything. That doesn’t make a difference, just thought I’d throw it in. 

 

“I’m gonna make this very simple for you.” Leaning forward is very beneficial; I know he’s listening ‘cause he follows my chest; disciplined and trained, my hole. All I have to do is take something off and he becomes a bumbling fucking moron. “You want this to work?” The answer isn’t verbal, just a forlorn sort of nod. “You want it to continue?” Another one. “So FUCKING CONTRIBUTE!!”

 

“I…. don’t understand.”

“What… What d’you mean you don’t understand?” My turn to be fucking dumbfounded.

“Contribute…. What do you mean contribute?”

“Are you fucking serious?!”

“Uhh….”

“Y’know how I make you feel _good?”_

“Yes?”

“Is it so much to ask for you to maybe _reciprocate_ every now and then?” I’m very polite today, aren’t I? Maybe it’s the prospect of actually cumming. Normally, when you throw something like that at someone, who has already confirmed they don’t want their current situation to change, you’d expect a bit of enthusiasm. Nah. Not this guy. He just kinda shifts nervously from foot to foot as if I’ve asked him for a fucking pint of blood and just swallows in utter terror. _What now?!_

 

“I…. I don’t know how.” Jesus Christ, we’re back to the first night all over again. I don’t know who looks more helpless, him or me but all I want is _a fucking orgasm!_ _Is that too much to ask?! I just wanna see stars and not be able to walk for an hour or so!! Why can’t I have that?!_ My back meets the mattress with a despondent **thump** and even though my eyes are on the ceiling, I can hear the padding of his bare feet inching closer to check I’m a’right.

 

 _“How?”_ He’s about to say he doesn’t know what I’m talking about again. _“How d’you not know?”_

“I have never done it before, I’ve never needed to-“

“Oh my God…. Y’know what?” Hauling my ass up is easy when an idea enters my head. Fuck this, I don’t fucking owe him anything. He staggers back automatically to let me up and watches, slack jawed, as I whip round him, getting dressed. “Fuck this, I’m out.”

“Wait…. Hold on, where are you going?!” He doesn’t know if he should try and stop me or not, he’s visibly debating it within himself if he should interrupt me pulling my tank top down over my bra.

“I’m gonna get my rocks off elsewhere ‘cause you obviously can’t be fucking BOTHERED!!” I snap at him and instead of recoiling like he usually does, he dives for the door, seemingly having decided to take action rather than simper. “Get outta my fucking way, you’re like a fucking child!!”

“No!” His back is flat against it with a huge hand covering the fucking control panel and at a loss for anything else to say; he doesn’t notice he’s lost his towel either. Looks like he’s never begged anyone to stay before, neither have I as it happens. “No…. Please…. Just…. Stay. I need you to stay. Please.”

“Why?!”

“Because…. I want to try.” Turn up for the books, huh? Mark me speechless and a tad unnerved. “I want to try, I want to learn and if I fail, I will open the door for you myself but first…. Please be patient with me. One chance is all I ask.” As much as I like to think of myself as a hardened individual, he’s just so fucking miserable with those puppy dog eyes and the slight shiver from being wet and naked that I just fucking cave.

“Fucks sake. Fine.” That instantaneous spread of relief is unparalleled in probably anyone I’ve ever seen and it’s all because I agreed to stay and not go and fuck someone else, anyone else. Am I the only one this doesn’t sit right with? Am I the only one who finds it strange that this once powerful individual willingly just degraded himself to almost beg a slut smuggler not to do what she does best with someone else that isn’t him? Is it that he doesn’t have far to fall? Things can’t get much worse for him? It’s also worth mentioning that when we’re not in bed, he’s strictly professional. I’ve tried to elicit a reaction just to see but nothing; it’s like he saves it all up for night time. He’ll let his gaze linger but that’s about it. Arse, tits, thighs; everything he indulges in when it’s just the two of us, none of it works. So I just assumed I was disposable; that he didn’t give a fuck, that it wouldn’t matter if I went off elsewhere but it seems it does. It matters a lot and I wasn’t even being ‘faithful’ on purpose. He was a convenience, he was there. I didn’t have to go looking through cantinas for someone half decent and try to avoid alcohol at the same time. “Dry your fucking hair, you’re making me cold.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Remember last night?” I managed to get the ginger galoot away from the exit; it involved taking off several items of clothing before he started to loosen his grip on the panel. Back in bed, undressed and now sprawled there with spindly fingers carefully tracing along random flesh; specifically the patch of leopard print covering my hip and part of my thigh, he loves that one. He’s enamoured with all the tattoos but he really likes that one; maybe it reminds him of his cat, I dunno. 

 

 _“I do.”_ He replies quietly, gently nudging his nose and trailing it across my stomach, gradually making his way down.

“Just…. Think about what I did. Minus the strap-on obviously. Recall what I did at the start, tongue and fingers except here you can use them together but work up to that.”

_“How will I know if I’m doing it right?”_

“Oh trust me, **_you’ll know.”_** Now, when Finalizer was ransacked (we raided the place for all it was worth, and not just us), someone came across a distorted recording of the firing of Starkiller that had been beamed back to Finalizer as it happened. I don’t scare easy but fuck me, this was eerie; thousands of Stormtroopers, flags, Tie-Fighters and crushing silence save for one voice: Him. I haven’t told him I heard the Starkiller speech, he probably wouldn’t know what to say but when we caught up with the staff (who we mutilated and tortured, one of them died in the chair), they told us their General was a great _orator._ Well…. We’re about to find out, aren’t we? It might be a bit rigid the first time but he’ll learn, he’s learned quite well so far; he’s clever, he’ll get it. He starts with an uncertain lick from the bottom of the crease all the way up to the top so I settle back into the pillows and let him get a feel for it.

 

“Hang on a sec….” If he looked up any faster, he’d have hurt his neck and that’s exactly what I want to prevent. He backs off, scooting back on the bed; all forlorn like a kicked dog as I shuffle the pillows behind me. I don’t look at him ‘cause I don’t want him to make a big deal outta it but he’s overthinking it anyway.

 

“What did I do wrong?”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” He’s over-analyzing everything, himself included, I can see the doubt in his face. Pulling one of the plumper pillows out from behind my back, I lift my hips to shove the bundle of feathers underneath before wiggling my arse down onto it. “It’s so you don’t hurt your neck. Try again, should be easier.” He blinks, confused for a second. At least one thing of two is going through his mind: A) Why does she care about my neck? Or B) How is a pillow going to make any difference? If he's thinking something else, I don't know what it is. As if he'd been scolded but determined, he moves in again, nestled between my thighs; I’ve killed a man this way….. Don’t ask. He won't know how much better it is with the pillow since he wasn't at it long enough without it but it'll benefit him with his height alone, his neck won't be killing him later or tomorrow and I gain nothing by being nice. What I mean is, I don't get any extra comfort or anything, but I still get tongue fucked.

 

He's found my clit, that’s a good start. He knows he’s doing something from the little fluttering groan as he tinkers it with his tongue. The only problem is he stops whenever I move; as if I’m about to sit up and fuck him out of it but goes right back when I don’t say anything. Thankfully, he gets out of that habit quite fast and accepts me shifting is part of the experience; a sign that he’s doing well. I gotta hand it to him, he’s not bad…. not bad at all. He’s managed to bury the tip of his tongue in under the fleshy hood with both bony hands gripping my sides. His eyes flicker up when my hand knots into his hair and gently tugs at it; it’s long enough to curl around my fingers. I’ve sank back into the pillows at the head of the bed while he sucks on me like a sweet and _oh my God…._

 

I’m going to have beard burn on my thighs after this but _Jesus Christ_ , I’m gonna relish it. Hips rising and falling, he’s trying to secure them by winding his arms around them but also uses them to drag me closer. He’s well into it by now; slurping and moaning as tongue slides through my folds, he’s more than well acquainted with them and it sounds like he’s enjoying getting this far. I already knew he had blowjob game; he proved that and if I was a dude, I would’ve filled his ass but I gotta wonder where it came from. Maybe the Academy was rougher than I thought; sex as currency, kinda like prison. All I know is he has a silver, Imperial tongue and I’m getting fucked by it. He was actually paying attention to everything I did last night rather than just the pleasure. First finger slips in and _fuuuuuuuuuuuuck_. He’s using them together; his tongue and his finger working in tandem and thrusting into his favourite place.

 

_“Shit….”_

_“Are you alright?”_

_“I’m better than a’right, keep fucking going.”_ Only he knows that the last time he wore that proud, cocky smirk was on Starkiller, when the Hosnian System erupted into dust and death above him. He dives back in; mouth clamped around, working with fervor and that sinister chuckle reverberates on my clit for something deliciously different. I’ve never seen anyone go from amateur to pro so fucking fast but here he is; eating me out like he hasn’t had a meal in fucking years. Threading my fingers into his hair, he likes that. He likes the pressure, he likes knowing he’s going in the right direction and fuck, is he what.

 

 _“Ohhhhh…. Fuuuuuuuuck.”_ Two fingers and I’m not getting a break anytime soon but I don’t fucking want one. Squirming slightly against his hold, eyes shut, lip bitten and blanket in a bunch under my hand; I think I might just get my wish. They say you are what you eat, right? When I swallowed his cock juice the first time, it was like drinking water; bland as fuck. More recently with all the shit he’s been eating, he’s a lot easier to stomach. So you can imagine what he’s tasting right now with someone who’s been living on fucking sugar her whole life. It’s like all the candy he was never allowed to eat as a kid just leaking out of one place and the way he’s going down, he’s making up for _lots_ of lost time. **_“Oh my fucking God…. There!! There!! Right there!! YEEEHHHEEESSSSS!!”_** Okay, I’m either really sensitive, he’s really good or something in between ‘cause when he told me he’d never done it before, I was expecting half-ass, virgin grade. _Damn son, it’s more than that._ And I’m gonna come. Really fucking soon.

 

_“Holy shit, I’m gonna….”_

_“Come on my face.”_

_“You sure?!”_

_“Yes, do it. Preferably soon, all your screaming is making me rather uncomfortable below the waist.”_

_“Make me come and I’ll see what I can do 'bout that.”_ And he does. It’s loud, it’s wet, it’s sticky and it’s on his fucking face. I’m hoarse, twitching under his tongue and gyrating like mental under his grasp; this is new for both of us. In all the years I’ve been fucking around, no one has ever been that determined to stop me going elsewhere and it’s worked fucking beautifully. Trembling with the bunch still under my left hand and his hair in my right, it just kind slides out when he surfaces and Christ, he wears pussy juice well. Crawling up between my legs, his cock pokes me in the stomach; nice and stiff but I made a promise, didn’t I?

_“You’re shaking, sweating….”_

_“That’s your fucking fault.”_

_“I had to make you stay, didn’t I?”_

_“Smooth motherfucker.”_ Lips to mine for the second time that morning and much better received. That tang of my own secretion between the two of us flows smoothly and silkily, like I did with his cum the night before. Except the greeny blue of his eyes lock with the lilac of mine while he purposely sucks his fingers clean. _Christ on a speeder, get in-fucking-side me. “Find a johnny and don’t you fucking dare be gentle.”_

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Hit me.”

“I don’t want to.”

 

Frustrated and annoyed, Mort’s head flew back and his eyes rested on the ceiling as though scanning it for patience. Only in his exercise gear did Hux realize just how much more powerful Mort was than him. Strong muscular legs, thick tree-trunk like arms (with tattoos, just like Nalesse though Mort seemed to be slightly darker in skin tone) and a chest one could grate cheese on; Hux had his reservations about attacking. In a similar attire, he had never felt more self-conscious or gangly than he did just then in a tank top and shorts; if anything, he longed for the effect his uniform shoulder pads used to have at least. Off in the corner of the room, Draven and Balor watched the scene with interest though Nalesse was nowhere to be found. The aliens (who Hux was more than used to by now, perhaps even fond of) leaned against the wall, silently reserving judgment though he could see the skepticism seeping into their non-human features already.

 

“You don’t wanna hit me?!” Mort repeated, irked beyond reason by his sister’s ‘companion’ as he prowled the training mat with an aggressive roll of his shoulders. “That’s cool. That’s fine. And what the fuck you gonna tell Cole when the fucking time comes to hit him, huh?! You gonna roll on your fucking back like you do for Less?! Huh?!”

 

“Easy, Mort…..” Whether the muttered defense came from Balor or Draven, Hux couldn’t decipher but Mort was nearing and couldn’t be trusted not to strike first.

 

“I won’t go easy!” Mort bit back to an arched eyebrow from the Devaronian; perhaps it was him. “He’s no good to us like this! Look at the fucking state of him! I could pick my teeth with his fucking legs!” Involuntarily, Hux shifted his weight from foot to foot. He hadn’t fought in some time (was the Academy the last time before Nalesse? And he’d probably taken a beating rather than given it); the last time he did, he received a thrashing from a tiny female and his confidence had taken a knocking accordingly. He had put on weight since being accepted into the Brax (however temporarily) but that had mostly gathered on his stomach in the form of actual fat; would he ever look like Mort? More than likely not. Was he actually jealous of the brute? Perhaps. While Draven and Mort argued, Hux watched the sleek form of the other human and reminded himself: _Less found him attractive._ True, it had been before they discovered their shared blood but they had been intimate based on mutual attraction. It sent off a chain reaction of worry; she found Mort attractive when he looked like he did. Hux didn’t look like that. Did she find him physically appealing? She’d never really said…. Before Hux could think on it any longer, Mort closed into his personal space and began circling like a shark.

 

 **“I know you’re trained!!”** His lover’s brother barked while Hux turned with him to prevent him striking without surprise. **“All the Imperials are trained and I KNOW you are too! It’s compulsory in the Arkanis Academy, you can’t graduate without a certain standard so you might as well fucking use it!!”** Hux questioned Mort’s source; his information was correct but the redhead couldn’t fathom where he’d gotten it from. Before he could muse on it further, Mort stamped forward towards the ex-General which sent him skittering backwards almost in panic which made the younger of the two bite the inside of his cheek in dire exasperation. Why did this have to be so difficult? If anything, he assumed that Hux would want a means of blowing off steam. Then again, it seemed Nalesse already had that covered but what she found appealing about having a stick insect on top of her, he couldn’t figure that out either. Then again, Mort wasn’t known for his brain power and it had not yet occurred to him that maybe his sister was beginning to change; starting with her shallowness.

 

“Right, okay, this is fucking pathetic.” Mort conceded eventually as he backed off to the sidelines. Well, the edge of the mats where a bottle of water was grabbed. He re-approached the wary male and held it out to him; he was relieved to see it. “Take it.” Unfortunately, when Hux stretched out a hand to clasp the bottle, it was whipped away and instantaneously, he was floored but a force too quick to see or prepare for – Mort’s fist.

 

 **“WHY’D YOU TRUST ME??!!”** The darker of the two bellowed while the paler one writhed on the floor, clutching his cheek and eye with quiet snarls of pain, surprise and embarrassment. Perhaps he hadn't yet noticed the steady stream of warm crimson trickling from his nose.  **“WHY’D YOU FUCKING TRUST ME??!! YOU GONNA TRUST COLE??!! YOU’RE GONNA GET YOURSELF AND US FUCKING KILLED!!”** Balor and Draven had voiced their outrage of foul play from the corner but preferred to let this take its course. **“D’YOU EVEN WANT REVENGE??!! OR ARE YOU JUST HERE FOR MY SISTER’S EASY, GAPING WIND TUNNEL OF A CUNT??!!”**

_“Repeat that.”_ Hux hissed, definite in his offense and quiet outrage but unable to raise his voice with injury. He had fought to his feet in the meantime, wheezing as broken blood vessels blossomed on his face; no doubt they would leave a colourful bruise and swell magnificently. Mort’s head tilted as if he hadn’t heard him correctly but it sounded like a challenge he was more than willing to accept. _“Repeat what you just said. **Now.** ”_

“I said…..” Mort began slowly and with the purpose of antagonizing as he confidently closed the distance between him and the General. “ _Are you just here for my sister’s easy, gaping wind tunnel of a cunt?”_ How it happened, Mort wasn’t entirely sure but it did. The explosion of agony in his gut proved as he stumbled back and his eyes flew to the redhead who flexed his knee from the sudden spring of a kick but was otherwise unmoved by the assault. Winded, Mort wasn’t given a chance to recover while the two aliens howled their approval from the corner, jolted by excited disbelief.

 

**“GET ‘IM, HUX!!!”**

**“KNOCK THAT BITCH OUT!!”**

**“PUT ‘IM BACK IN ‘IS FUCKING BOX!!”**

**“WHACHA GONNA DO NOW, PRICK??!!”**

**“DON’T TALK ‘BOUT ‘IS LADY LIKE THAT, MORTIMER!!”**

Hux ignored them, spurring and all as their hollers were but he couldn’t afford to get distracted. He and Mort watched each other like savage alphas, readying to clash again. Mort fixed himself, even if somewhat prematurely while they both poised to attack once more.

 

 _“That all it takes?”_ The brawnier of the two spat while they marked each other, both trained in different ways but equally as deadly. _“All I gotta do is bring up that filthy fucking bitch and you’ll snap?”_ Pleased that he’d found a vein, Mort would keep going, exploiting the nerve until he was satisfied. Was satisfaction worth the swift grab of his arm and merciless twist that pinned it into discomfort behind his back with the weight of the General pushing it? _“You know she doesn’t give a fuck about you!”_ Strained and through gritted teeth, Mort’s pain threshold had grown in the years of his illicit activities and the violence that accompanied them but his pride had grown too. To be in such a painful and humiliating situation by someone half his size hit his ego like Hux’s knee to the back of his; the roars of his friends in favour of his opponent didn’t help either. _“You get that you’re a convenience, right?! You get that you’re not fucking special to her?! **AAAAGGGHHHH!!”**_

 

* * *

 

 

I don’t know what the fuck is going on but the door to the training room slides back just in time for me to see Hux elbow Mort into the fucking face. He goes down like a sack of Corellian potatoes but grabs an ankle on the way pulls Hux with him then they start grappling on the floor.

 

“Wanna tell me what the fuck is going on?” Balor and Draven don’t even notice I’m there until I’m right beside them and even when they do, they’re not too bothered by my presence; more interested in the other two morons pulverizing each other on the mats like hormonal teenagers. I’m not surprised at Mort but I’m _really_ surprised at Hux. Like, a little-wet-in-my undies surprised.

 

“They’re fighting.” No shit, Draven.

“Okay, why?”

“Mort said he needed to know how to fight. Turns out Hux already knew and he’s now handing his ass to him Imperial style.”

“He had a special trigger though.” I’m not sure why they’re exchanging that sly smirk but I get the impression they’re more interested in Hux and Mort thumping each other’s chests to prevent the other getting up.

 

“Okay, cool. Look, when they’ve finished beating the shit out of each other like adolescent apes, just tell ‘em I’m not pregnant. Okay? Okay.”

 

“Right.”

“Fine.”

 

They’re not fucking listening.

 

* * *

 

 

 **“A’right….! A’right! Stop, stop, stop!”** Panting, Hux relented but kept his guard in case it was a ploy for Mort to take a chance like he had before. Bent over to catch both his breath and to ease whatever damage the redhead had inflicted; Mort had never come so close to waving a white flag in his life. _“Okay…. Okay…. I get it. You could kick my ass if you wanted to.”_ Hux didn’t answer. He waited for Mort to either strike or keep groveling. He chose the latter. “A’right, man. Let’s just fucking chill, okay?”

 

_“Alright….”_

“You okay?”

_“I’m fine. Are you?”_

“I’m good, man, I’m good. We good?”

_“Yes…. I’m sorry, yes….”_

“Don’t ‘pologize, dude. You did exactly what I wanted you to do. I was just trying to get you there, you know that, right? I didn’t mean that shit. We cool?”

 _“Yes….”_ Hux swallowed both air and blood as he lowered his floating fist in an attempt to calm his thundering heart and comprehend exactly what had just happened; that unorthodox means of goading that had unleashed a beast long since buried. _“I know…. I think….”_

“Don’t worry, bud.” Mort’s arm slung over the General’s neck; a show of comradery, support and forgiveness. The gesture was returned and the pair leaned on each other while they limped to the door Less had only left through a few moments earlier; bleeding, bruised and worn out “C’mon. Fuck the water, there’s beer in the conserver.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the anon for pointing out the inequality and like I said, it was in the last chapter but it was too long so I made it into this chapter instead! I just hope it wasn't too short or anything because this story is unique for me so writing a first person oral scene is a tad strange for me!!


	10. Up Our Alley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the training room is both very vague and very clear so to avoid any deep entanglements, Nalesse suggests a night out where things only get worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhh.... Explicit content? :D 
> 
> Also, I'm getting a very Norman Reedus feel off Mort. Not just the personality but the temperament and demeanour as well. Possibly in looks too?

_Baby, this is what you came for_

_Lightning strikes every time she moves_

_And everybody's watching her_

_But she's looking at you_

 

So my bed-warmer stumbled back to the bedroom with a bag of frozen peas stuck to his face. Why do we even have peas? Vegetables? On this fucking ship? I’m assuming they’re a first aid thing? Like…. We don’t actually eat them, do we? I gotta talk to Balor about that, it’s not sitting right with me. Anyway…. Red’s propped up in bed with the occasional groan, the poofiest pillows fluffed up behind his back and of course, I’m playing nurse. Not the way I usually do, I have a special outfit for that but it’s not for this kinda treatment. I know what happened in the training room; they beat the fuck outta each other, I saw that much. They didn’t even bother to clean themselves off, just went straight for beer. But what I don’t know is what went on in the kitchen; what the fuck did they say to each other? ‘Cause since he staggered back up here, all he’s done is gaze at me with a look that I can only describe as longing bewilderment. I know what you’re thinking: I had to install a vocabulary app in the com just to keep up since that educated cunt got here. I’ve started to mop the blood off his face; as gentle as I can so when he stops me with a careful grasp on my wrist, I can only assume I’ve hurt him. Or maybe not.

 

“Nalesse?”

“Yeah?”

“May I ask you something?”

“Just light the fucking cigarra; you don’t have to ask.”

“It’s not that but thank you.”

“And you don’t have to ask to ask me something. What’s eating ya?”

“Alright. I was looking at Mort earlier during the fight-“

“Everyone looks at Mort. It’s hard to find so much stupid all in one place. How’s your nose?”

“Painful but not broken.”

“Need more peas?”

“No, I’m alright, thank you. But like I was saying…. I was looking at Mort-“

“Uh-huh?”

“Well… It occurred to me that once upon a time…. you found him attractive.” Le sigh.

“Okay.” Storytime. Wringing out the cloth into the bowl of scalding water on the bedside table (Beauty and the Beast style; guess which one I am?) before dunking it again, you’d think I’m about to impart some serious fucking wisdom; I’m not. “Have you ever been to The Outlander Nightclub?”

“No.”

“Right, it’s dark and everyone’s drunk and stoned. I only sobered mid-ride and didn’t see him properly ‘til our dad kicked in the fucking door to let some light in so maybe ‘attracted’ is a little severe but yeah, there was something there; nothing deep, just a good bang.”

“Yes but…. You liked him the way he was. I presume he hasn’t changed from when you met him?”

“I’m a lot shallower than you give me credit for. I didn’t know him to like him; that’s how one night stands work. Not really, same thick fuck as always.”

 

“So you liked him as he was, as he is now….” He’s not listening. He trails off into an almost uncomfortable silence, like he’s not sure he wants to know the answer to the question he’s about to ask. “I’m nothing like him…. Are you attracted to me?” I think he’s worried by the length of time it takes me to answer but the thing about it is…. I’ve never been asked that before. To be asked that…. Well, it kinda implies a commitment, doesn’t it? It means more than just a quick, drunk fuck; one where you’re so absolutely tit-balled that looks don’t matter. Am I conveying this right? Am I making sense? D’you get what I mean? Okay, uhh…. Beer goggles. Right? Fool me one, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on fucking me. Get it? You’re not gonna fuck an ugly person twice or someone you don’t have a deep connection with and feel good about it in the morning. But…. If you wake up multiple times next to the same person and don’t hate yourself for it….. Surely that’s a good thing? The few weeks or so haven’t been bad at all; minus the snoring. Fucks sake, listen to me; soppy bitch. He’s dropped the peas; they’re probably well defrosted by now and he’s looking at me through a swollen slit that used to be his left eye.

 

“Okay….” How do I fucking word this without sounding like a fucking pariah? That look of nervous expectancy isn’t much better to the way he looked at me before; not sure which one I prefer, to be honest. “Uhh…. Well…. It’s sorta-“

 

“If you’re not, you only have to say.” And that dejection in itself just makes me to leap to defense like stoked coals under my arse; uncharacteristically so.

 

“No! No, no, no! It’s not that, like, at all!” Shit, what now?! The expectancy is back but it’s got a pang of curiosity and I’m right back to where I started. I’ve never even _thought_ about this, let alone articulated it! But the more I think about it, I realize it’s there. Now how do I put it across without sounding like a pathetic, pussy bitch? “It’s not that….” Atta girl, repeat the fucking sentiment. “It’s just…. No one’s ever asked me that before.” Getting somewhere. Ever so slowly, he shuffles up and bites back an agonized hiss as he adjusts his pulverized body to look at me properly, to put himself even with me. Is that symbolic or something? I dunno but I have his full attention. “It’s just…. You. Whatever the fuck this is. It’s never happened to me before. If someone farts in my bed, they get fucking kicked out; you did it last night and we fucking laughed about it.”

 

“You know…..” He shifts into a more comfortable position though it hasn’t really changed; he’s just distributed his weight slightly. Maybe it’s nothing to do with pain, maybe he’s just awkward; he certainly fucking looks it. “You’re not alone in that. I’m not accustomed to affection or companionship or….. anything that we do really. Up until I arrived here, I had no idea how fulfilling it was to wake up beside someone, how rewarding mindless touches and kisses can be…. How lonely I’ve been despite being surrounded constantly.” Shit…. This is bad…. I gotta nip this in the bud before it gets too soppy and fucking committal; if I don’t, there’ll be a ring on my finger and fucking kids wrecking my ship. I ain’t stretching my vagina for anyone under eighteen.

 

“Hey so….” I’m going to **completely** change the subject, even if he does look a little dolefully confused, like I ripped out his heart while he laid himself bare. The chirpy tone of voice and the little hop as I get off the bed leaves him more shot down and I’m making stuff to do to break the awkwardness like opening the wardrobe and brushing my hair. “If you’ve never been to the Outlander, we should go. We’ll all get pissed in celebration of my news!” Emphasis on **all** , he doesn’t need to think this is a date. “I haven’t had a drink since before we plucked your ass off Entooine!” Hux’s face scrunches up and those bluey-green eyes flicker to the side as if he’s trying to piece something together; only half watching me potter around and doing anything to stay off the bed.

 

“What…. What news?” Are you fucking shitting me? Whipping around in a neat little pivot on the spot from my mid-shuffle of the wardrobe; we’re staring at each other.

 

“My news.” Nope, face still blank. “They didn’t fucking tell you?”

“Who tell me what?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, no one listens around here!”

“Nalesse, what news?”

“Well, you and Mort were so busy hammering the shit out of each other that I told Balor and Draven to tell ye that I wasn’t pregnant when ye were done!”

“One moment…..” He looks like his mouth’s dried and his gaze drops only to scrape a hand through the ginger bristle on his chin. _“Pregnant? I… When were you going to tell me? I deserved to know-!”_

“Woah, woah, woah!!” What the fuck?! “Hold your fucking tauntauns! Who said it was yours?!” I think he knows he might’ve jumped the blaster here. “Dude, we’ve been fucking for less than two weeks! If it was yours, I probably wouldn’t even fucking know I was pregnant yet so fucking chill, will ya?!” Back to the wardrobe, let him recover from the embarrassment in peace; even if his face is still crestfallen and bright red. Flicking through the hangers in silence; I’ve decided I’m going out regardless of whether he’s coming or not. Until….

 

“So…. Whose did you think it was?” Seriously? Fucking seriously?

“That’s not important. I’m not pregnant and that’s all that fucking matters. Pop a Comaren and get dressed.” If I can get him drunk and laid, he’ll be fine but what am I gonna wear? Maybe not too slutty, he doesn’t need to think I’m dressing for him…. I don’t particularly want to cover up too much…. What about-?

 

“If it’s not important, why don’t you answer me?” _Gooooooooooooooood._ The bunch of laden down hangers gets and overly zealous shove as I spin around again to find him focused on me; sitting up with arms crossed over that unhealthily pale chest.

 

“I just said it’s not important, why’re you making it important?”

“I trust you and therefore, I think you should trust me. Do you even know who potentially sired your child?”

 

“There’s no fucking child! And even if there was, who the **fuck** d’you think you are?!” I know that snotty expression; he’s about to get on his high horse and shite on about his achievements and breeding. He’s forgetting, though, that his balls are in my purse. I don’t have a purse and it’s a figure of speech but the point remains: He’s in no fucking position to be mouthing off. He knows I used to fuck Cole (do I still, technically?) but that’s the extent of what he needs to know; he doesn’t need to know that for the last seven or eight weeks that I’ve been paranoid that his fucking spawn was growing inside me. “You’re in no fucking place to be giving me shit on morals when your slate is far from clean, boy!” I don’t give a balls that he’s older than me, he’s pissed me off. “If I want kids by a hundred different dads, I’ll fucking do it and that doesn’t mean any of ‘em would be yours either! You’re damn glad of me being a slut when it’s only you using me so shut the fuck up!” Back to the wardrobe to give myself a minute to cool off, the sliding of the hanger hooks on the rail is a lot slower but I’m alert for any of the slightest movement and murmur from behind me. He doesn’t say anything; he either feels guilty or he doesn’t know what he _can_ say that won’t get him eaten again.

 

“I’m going out.” I tell him, leaving the wardrobe behind me to head to the door when he looks up, forlorn and even more pathetic now that he’s several shades of shit lighter. “With or without you. Come or don’t, I really don’t care.”

 

* * *

 

 

Pissed as farts.... All of us. Like, there's nothing graceful about any of it, not even the proud General; I think he's the worst of us actually 'cause he's a fucking lightweight but he's keeping up. We've never been out in public together and technically, we're not really together but I suppose that's arguable with his hand between my legs, my knees straddling his waist and the delicious sound he makes when I suck his bottom lip; all is forgiven and I blame the booze. It's that time of the night when everyone's twisted and most have paired off but there's still a few stragglers on the dance floor giving it one last shot. Mort's wrapped around some blonde chick, Balor's flirting with a bit of tail at the bar (I think she's a hooker but I'm a bit taken up to be looking out for him too) and poor Draven is quietly in the corner, text comming his wife; told ya he was faithful.

 

The music is still pounding and the place is getting hotter; as if being heated by the friction created by numerous bodies grinding off each other and we’re no exception over here. Just like the first night, his tongue is jammed back my throat but it’s better educated this time while his other hand has encased my pelvis and allowing it to dry-hump his thigh. Well…. Maybe not dry. He’s already admitted that this is completely new to him; he’s never been in a nightclub before and he’s certainly never worked himself into a drunken horny frenzy before either but he’s quickly rectifying that. He finally gives in and gives me what I want; what he knows I want. The hand under my skirt manoeuvres in such a way that it’s no longer just sitting there but rather actively working me up which is a bit redundant if the insistent gyrating of my hips is anything to go by. But then there's relief when my aching hole engulfs two Imperial fingers.

 

_"Ooohhhh....."_

_"Good girl...." I like that. Tell me I’m good again._ In an effort to get the praise repeated (daddy issues, much?), my lips pepper his jawline like one of those tiny fishes you see cleaning an Emerald shark; a fine stroke to the ego. What you need to remember is that there's literally only a tiny caf table choked with empty glasses and bottles between me and Hux and Mort and the bimbo (and I know she's a bimbo, I heard her laugh). So it'll tell you how wrapped up we are in our respective partners that I'm only two feet away, fucking the General's hand and Mort can see me but he's doing nothing about it. Mainly because his "lady" friend has his pants undone and is currently undertaking the male equivalent.

 

Brief reminder and maybe an insight into what kinda place this is: we're in a nightclub, no one's batting and eyelid and we're not the only ones well on the way to getting the ride. As a matter of fact, the club has a dude going around with a camera so by tomorrow morning, there’ll be about eight seconds of Hux’s first nightclub experience on their holonet site. Well, eight seconds of him being two knuckles deep in my twat; nothing censored. That’s what kind of place this is and he seems strangely comfortable here.

 

 _"I think we should make ourselves scarce."_ The suggestion is heated and panted but his attention is piqued immediately; the thrusts of his fingers don't stop or even slow down. I’m about to get what I want; like I always do. No answer, just a swift withdrawal of his fingers and before I know it, we’re up and making for the nearest exit: through the dancefloor. Mort’s a little taken up, he barely acknowledges my little flick to his ear before Hux and I disappear into the crowd but he’ll figure out we’re gone sooner or later. Joined at the mouth again, we bulldoze our way through the last minute hopefuls and the overly familiar couples but immersed in nothing but each other until I hear my name being roared over the fucking music.

 

 ** _“LESS!! OI!! LESS!!”_** Who the fuck _….? Ohhhh **shit** …. Not this guy, anyone but this fucking guy_. Y’know when you make a mistake and you know it’s a mistake but you go ahead and do it again anyway? Like grabbing an electrical wire, giggling and doing it again while your ass is still frying? Yeah, like that except it was a Twi’lek whose name I can’t remember nor do I care enough to put myself under strain to remember it. And here he is, elbowing his way towards me and a very bewildered Hux. He doesn’t stop when he gets to us; no, he moves right in for uninvited maul but I’m not having it. He’s not the smartest but I think it’s pretty clear I’m not game by how I dodge his face with a twinge of annoyance. **_“YOU REMEMBER ME, RIGHT??!!”_** He’s still bawling over the music even though he’s practically in my ear and he’s after giving me an out without even realizing it. Jesus Christ, what the fuck was I thinking with this guy? Fool me once, huh?

 

 ** _“NAH, MAN!!”_** I bellow back, trying to plead the fifth. **_“I THINK YOU GOT THE WRONG GIRL!!”_**

 

“ ** _AH, C’MON, THERE AREN’T THAT MANY ALEXANDRIA’S OUT THERE!! IT’S ME!! IGUB!!”_** That’s his fucking name; as stupid as he is.

 

**_“DUNNO WHAT TO TELL YA, DUDE!! MUST’VE BEEN PRETTY WASTED NOT TO REMEMBER YOU!!”_ **

****

**_“YEAH!!”_** He’s getting a little too close now and Hux is keeping his distance but he’s watching _very_ intently. **_“TWICE!!”_**

 

 ** _“HOLY SHIT, BABE; YOU HEAR THAT??!! I’VE BEEN DRUNK TWICE!!”_** Direct it at the redhead and Igub might get the message; obviously not and Hux just still stands idly by while the Twi’lek pulls me closer to dance. Fuck this, I’ve had enough. Igub is bigger than me (everyone fucking is) so struggling is of little result. **_“LOOK, MAN, I’M HERE WITH SOMEONE!!”_** What was that about this not being a date? It’s more of a get-out clause now.

 

 ** _“ONE DANCE WON’T HURT!! HE WON’T EVEN KNOW YOU’RE GONE!!”_** He’s standing right there, jackass; watching us. That is, of course, until I catch Hux’s eye from where’s he’s become more rigid and squared in his shoulders.

 

 ** _“YOU WANT ME??!!”_** I challenge him, ignoring Igub and trying not to move whatever way he turns me to maintain my motivating gaze on the General. **_“FUCKING PROVE IT!!”_** Now, when you say that to someone in the context that I just did; you expect them to maybe throw a punch or something not **PULL OUT THEIR FUCKING BLASTER AND LODGE ONE RIGHT BETWEEN THE DUDE’S EYES.** Which is what he just did; calm as you please. Everything stops before Igub hits the ground, including the music, the lip-locked couples and everyone stares for a minute; even I’m fucking speechless. D’you know how hard that is to do?

 

He just _killed_ a guy. He killed a guy for _me_. He killed a guy because he was _jealous_ over me. Well, whip me hard and call me a tauntaun. He’s fixated on one thing: Me. Blaster down at his side, probably not even on safety and Goddamn it, we’re picking up where we left off. So I run; straight at him. Blaster still in one hand, the other arm drops and scoops me up where my own legs wrap to his torso, my arms cling to his neck and I swear, on Mort’s life, I’ve never been kissed like that in all my twenty eight years. Needless to say, we make a quick exit but there’s going to be lingered murmurs of the mysterious redhead who mowed down a Twi’lek in the Outlander for putting hands on his woman; the notorious slut Nalesse Du Sade.

 

* * *

 

 

I can safely say that I’ve never dropped my knickers so fast and that’s fucking saying something. We burst from the side door of the Outlander and into the alleyway in the same clinch and unable to keep off each other, not that we want to. It’s narrow, cold and dark but neither of us are paying attention to that; I’m too busy watching my murderer trying to fumble with his pants while looking up and down the alley: it’s abandoned save for one decrepit droid picking through the rubbish. Does it get any dirtier than this? Falling from a nightclub, pissed as coots to get our fuck on and not giving a shit about who sees or hears us? Probably not but it’s gonna be fun.

 

 _“Less….”_ The first time he’s spoken since the praise is little more than a slur and I do have to check the Little General, just in case, but there he is; standing to attention. So what’s the problem? The flat sole of one heeled boot meets the wall opposite (it’s that narrow), creating a gap that he automatically shimmies his way into and one movement is all it’ll take for him to be where we both want; he’s so close and he’s trying his hardest not to kiss me. _“I… I don’t have a condom….”_ Bollocks. Neither do I. But y’know what?

 

 _“Don’t care.”_ I garble in reply, drink still well lodged in my system. _“Just…. Do it. Sort it tomorrow….. Just fuck me.”_ He doesn’t require more persuasion which is a fucking mercy ‘cause I don’t think I could hold out much longer. He wants this just as much as me and proves it by not making me wait. Roughly, the thigh of my extended leg is seized and even though he's already close, that grip pulls him in the rest of the way aaaaaaaaaaaand, we’re off. It’s a little strange when we’re standing up; we’ve never been that adventurous before. Well, I suppose we’ve had a lot of mold to break and plenty to choose from in such a short space of time so it’s probably fairer to say that we hadn’t gotten around to it before now. Anyway; because it’s new, awkward and we’re out of our fucking boxes (that’s drunk, for you with a less colourful vocabulary), it’s hard to get the pace and the rhythm right but he gets there eventually.

 

He pulls back ever so slightly to growl at the darkened Coruscant sky; I’m assuming it’s a coping mechanism for his first time of pushing his uncovered cock into me. It’s new for him, not for me really but it’s still different. That feeling of fullness is familiar when he’s right up to the base and I’m accustomed to this particular one but still, the nakedness is a novelty. Nostrils flared and eyes barely open, I thought he’d be more paranoid about being seen but he’s either too drunk or waaaaay too involved in what we’re doing to give a fuck; I’m gonna settle with the latter. Chest to chest, skirt bundled up and the light jingle of his belt buckle every time he pushes in and withdraws are just some of the small details that all combine to make this a unique experience. I mean, we can do it again but it will never be exactly the same; nothing ever is.

 

 _“Fuck.”_ My bare arse is scraping the cold stone of the wall behind me but it’s barely registering. I’m more focused on the killer redhead sandwiching me to the wall, still holding my leg with one hand and the other resting on the wall; as if he doesn’t trust himself to stay upright. He’s started slow to get his bearings but I think he’s discovered he can reach deeper and tease me more brutally if he takes it slow. The lust leftover from the club is still powering through his veins but joined now by the unignorable pulse of adrenaline from planting a shot in Igub’s tiny brain. Every thrust is swift and deep, his hips snapping to elicit the darling moans he loves so much; he lifts me and drops me again, only by a few inches but enough for bruising to sprout on my thighs and scraps on my backside and judging by the noises he’s making; he’s enjoying himself.

 

He eventually figures out he’s not the only one here and whatever shitty light is reaching from the streetlight is suddenly blocked out when he closes in on my face and resumes that brisk, lung-draining kiss from inside the club. It’s messy, it’s wet, it’s passionate and we’re both moaning into it as if we can’t be seen or heard. I can taste _everything._ He brushed his teeth before we left the ship but the copious amounts of burning alcohol and the pepper pretzels from the bar have completely over-ridden his care and attention to oral hygiene. The pace finally grows into the harsh skin-on-skin slapping tempo I’m used to (we’re used to) and I can’t help but tense as he pulls back to watch me with a vicious contortion of his lip; God, he’s beautiful when he’s pleasuring me. Then he dives for my neck; I’m going to be absolutely fucking destroyed tomorrow but I couldn’t give a fat shit.  

 

 _“Holy shit…. Fuck….!”_ The vacuum of his mouth urgently siphons along the delicate flesh of my throat and neck, doing the damage as it goes; more glorious painting of black and blue that probably won’t turn up until tomorrow evening. All the while, his hips still collide with mine, jolting my whole system both physically and mentally until I can’t think straight. We're so tightly packed together that every heavy exhale he's throwing out, I'm hauling in; no wonder I feel dizzy. Obviously, it’s not the ideal location but I’m not complaining ‘cause what he's doing with his cock, I can't even do with a dildo, despite knowing my own body and what I like and how I like it. He’s learned _exceptionally_ well and puts everything into practice; if I’d thought of him as a project (a very sexy project and maybe he did start out that way), I’d consider him an overwhelming success.

 

**“Oh God….! Oh my God….! Yes….!”**

**“Ahhh…. Ahhh…..!”**

**“That’s it, baby! Fuck me….!”**

**“Less…!”**

_That’s it, sing my name._ Are we being a bit loud? We’re outside the Outlander so it’s not a rare occurrence though I do think the bounty should probably be a bit more careful; or I would if I could think in a somewhat organized pattern. I thought he’d be a bit more paranoid; I thought he’d be continuously looking up and down the alley but when his eyes are open, their unwavering attention is on me and waiting for a sign. Teeth gritted and choking in slivers of oxygen; the sobs of pleasure and roars of utter bliss are mutual and steadily climbing to a synced peak together. He trusts himself more now and so the hand he kept on wall curls into my hair and wraps around his knuckles to pull my lips back to his to resume that savage kiss. If you can call it a kiss; to the droid, it probably looks like we’re trying to eat each other and starting with the head.

 

 **“Uhh….! Ohhhhh….. FUCK!!”** Knees are starting to buckle.

 **“Empire….! Empire….!”** Strange things are being uttered and if I was sober, I would’ve called him on it.

 **“Please…. Plea-FUCK…..!! Do it!”** His hips are starting to stutter, his breathing is laboured and the thrusts are pistoling back and forth with the vigour that can only be fuelled by an impending orgasm.

 **“Less….! Nalesse….!”** That’s it, announce who you’re shagging to the fucking neighbourhood. It’s the last few seconds of a wonderfully primitive fuck and you’d need to be deaf not to hear us howling like stray cats making more stray cats, probably in the same setting, funnily enough. I’m seeing stars; I can barely breathe, it feels like my cunt has a heartbeat of its own, everything hurts but doesn’t and he’s still ploughing me like he’s getting his money’s worth. **“I…. Nalesse…. I can’t….!”**

_“Hey….”_ Everything stings now but I still managed to grab his face and force his eyes to mine so I **know** he’s paying a-fucking-tention; save for the slightly weird angle my neck is at with my hair still in his fist. _“Cum in me.”_ The bucks are still strong, still bruising but he’s listening and he’s tempted; very fucking tempted. _“I don’t care, we’ll deal with it tomorrow but you cum in my pussy **now!!”**_ And he takes off from there in a new frenzy; pinning me harder to the wall and pounding me harder into it for good measure. At the risk of sounding graphic: Only the local wildlife can hear me now. Screeching is maybe the wrong word but it’s not far off and Hux isn’t far behind me with his noises I can only generously say being ‘involuntary’. Clinging hard, he’s nearly finished as we opt to snarl at each for the final leg until eventually, it happens. One more alpha-like roar from the redhead before he folds on top of me; struggling to function, let alone breathe. And he did as he was told, I can just about feel it starting to sluggishly trickle onto my thigh and it’s the first time in a long time (consensually, anyway) that that’s happened. He takes two seconds of a breather before he’s on me again for the customary post-ride exchange of saliva. In the midst of that, he re-organizes himself to a presentable standard and barely before he pulls his face away, I’m up bridal-style and clinging to his neck for dear life for the duration of the short walk back to the ship.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

I could snap the blanket in half if I wanted; it’s that well coated in sweat, cum and pussy juice. Back at the ship with the room only lit by the moon, sheets soiled (there’s condoms in the drawer but we didn’t bother), fucked sober and just lying there quietly; there’s a weird sort of atmosphere hanging over us. All is calm, all is serene and we both know there’s more to this. We’ve just finished for the umpteenth time and I can feel his breath tickling the shell of my ear, counting the seconds before we go again; if we go again. He’s not breathing per say, he’s still panting but he’s starting to come down. I’m pretty much lying on top of him; my back is half covering his torso with one arm draped around my waist and the other is _holding my hand._ It’s irrelevant that I’m keeping his cock warm, I think it’s cute. Every so often, there’s a soft, lasting pressing of dry lips to the side of my face or a nuzzling of his nose into my cheek and y’know what? It’s nice. It feels like…. Respect? Adoration? Contentedness? When he’s not doing either of those things, he’s always close; into my hair, to be exact. It’s…. Dare I say it’s romantic? Maybe it’s because he could be looking at anything but he’s yet to look away from me.

 

I wake from my semi-trance when he moves his arm from my waist and instead find it on my shoulder where he turns me and once again, my breath isn’t my own. But it’s not like it was in the Outlander or in the alley; instead it’s tender, kind and sweet. It’s chivalrous little pecks (never known chivalry in my life till this cunt came along. That’s not sad….. Right?); the kind where he genially holds my chin to guide me so he can kiss me properly. I don’t know where he learned that shit but fuck, I’m weak. It molds into something that seems different from any other time we’ve done this; this is more than just some post-fuck boredom-breaker. Ever so gently, he slides back without breaking his gaze from mine as the palm of his hand placidly cradles the side of my face and his thumb strokes my cheek with gentility. He _wants_ to say something; he’s just having a hard time getting it out and he probably shouldn’t be biting his lip like that….

 

 _“_ You’re so beautiful. Do you know that?” _Why are my cheeks feeling hot?! Why can’t I say anything?! Why am I suddenly shy?! Why am I smiling like a gobshite?! Why is my stomach all fucking fluttery? Surely the acid will kill the butterflies! Look back at him, ya tit, he’ll think you’re fucking soft!_ And what do I come out with?

_“Yeah, you’re pretty too.” Holy fucking hell._ “I mean….” That’s it, backtrack to fuck; wake up and bring yourself back to reality.  “Yeah, you’ve said that before.” That’s one thing I’ve noticed about him; I can say the most cringeworthy fucking thing and he doesn’t react. Like, at all; it’s like he’s too concerned about his own reactions being appropriate to worry about me dying internally with mine. Sitting up as much as he’ll allow me but not enough to break his hold, he’s keenly interested and adjusts himself in such a way that the physical contact is maximized. “Umm…. So look…. I’ve been thinking….” Even if it’s only since earlier that night. “Since we’re both clean and both committed, maybe we should look at ditching the condoms? Getting something more long term?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do review!


	11. Fruits of the Black Bazaar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hux puts himself in an unusual and unfamiliar position.... And Nalesse is very accommodating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry about all the delays! Slowly emerging from writer's block so apologies if the standard isn't the same.  
> I'm working on Learn to Love and Hate at the moment.

“General, the charts you ordered.”

 

“They’re late, Captain.”

 

“Yes, sir. There was a problem with the-“

 

“I am not interested in excuses.” The interception is cold, concise and absolutely merciless. “I am interested in exploring your incompetence.”

 

“I’m sorry, sir…. There was a problem with the interface, it was out of my hands-“

 

“Grovelling again, Captain?”

 

“ _Please sir….”_

“Get on your knees.”

 

So I do as I’m fucking told.

 

* * *

 

 

Before you say anything; this was his idea, not mine. I just said “Fuck it” and put on the uniform; variety is the spice of life and all that shite. It’s **amazing** what you can pick up at the Black Bazaar, an illegal market in a cavern underground near Mos Espa; even months after Finalizer was raided, new stuff is coming on the market all the time. Everything from weapons to softwear to uniforms (I’m assuming most would buy them as a collector’s item rather than what **we’re** using them for) turn up and unless you’re in the right place at the right time or you know the right people, you’ll know nothing about it; we were just lucky. He went a little quiet when he saw them first, indecipherable to look at but we kept moving in what we were looking for. Thinking about it now, I’m not surprised that he was fascinated by them; one of them used to be his, after all. Maybe he’d never worn it but there was only one General on Finalizer and that was him; that uniform was specific to him and no one else. When I turned around again, he’d already bought them and didn’t mention them until we were in bed that night. It took a bit of planning so we didn’t do it that night but anyway…. Back to the filth. You don’t read this for the fucking storyline.

 

 

* * *

 

 

I don't think I’ve ever seen boots so shiny and pristine in all my life; that’s probably why he took longer to get ready than I did. They're literally all I can see in my eye line as he dangerously paces before me; I can’t see the predatory demeanour but I can practically smell it. We opted to alter the reality a little and instead of the sensible, standard uniform trousers of a female officer, we picked a little black number from my wardrobe to add to the fantasy; a pleated skirt that barely covers my arse. Needless to say, there’s only a few inches of skin showing between where the hooker boots leave off and the hem of the skirt takes over. Almost painfully, my chin is seized in a vice-like grip and my head tipped back so that I'm eye level with one hell of a bulging crotch. He likes the psycho bitch I can play, so let’s see how he likes my simpering officer who only wants to keep her job.

 

“I abhor being kept waiting, Captain.” It actually sends chills where I didn’t think I had chills but when have I ever been one to shy away from cock? Hint: Never. So I just dive right in; as close to as literally as I can without headbutting him in the dick. I can’t get him out fast enough but when I do, it’s like I haven’t eaten in a week and tonight, I’m a carnivore but I’ve been scolded before for playing with my food. He’s unreadable as he stands over me with the top of my spine clasped controllingly in a leather-wrapped hand and I know better than to do something he won’t like. Dragging the flat plane of my tongue from the base to the weeping tip, that tang is specific to him and I’ve never tasted another like it but it’s by far my favourite. Enclosing his first few inches of his cumbersome (pardon the pun) length in the gap between my suctioned cheeks, my tongue tinkers with the sensitive little indent at the top and the only reactions he gives me are a hitching of his breath and subtle shuffling of his weight from foot to foot. But he’s not here to play.

 

Before I can even draw a fucking breath, he hits the back of my throat repeatedly, fucking my skull with ginger pubes ramming up my nose; _sexy_. So what do I need to do? Catch up. Clutching the flare on the thigh of his trousers for dear life, my knees are gonna be in shit tomorrow but if it’s only my knees, I’ll have done well. I need to stabilize myself before I launch myself in and brace what’s left of my gag reflex to meet him halfway. He likes enthusiasm so when I jerk myself towards him by his legs, that earns me a stroke of the ponytail and a let up in the face-fucking provided I take up the slack, which I do; he leaves me to do the work but keeps his hand at the back of my head, almost like a warning.

 

I’m small, I’ve always been small which means every bit of me is small. So here’s me at five foot fuck all, on my knees in front of a six foot something fella who’s big even for his height; and by big, I mean the fucking slab of man-meat that I’m salivating over, trying to fit as much of it into my mouth as possible. Over and back, over and back, my neck is going to start getting sore but if I don’t keep control, he’ll take it back, I’ll lose my voice and the others’ll know why. Sometimes I get a bit overly-excited (and I don’t mean the soaking between my thighs but that’s there too) but every now and then when I rock forward to claim more of him, he’ll miss my mouth completely and smear spit and pre-cum up the side of my face; that’s raunchy in its own way and I can’t be sure it’s not being done on purpose.

 

All the while, the obsession with my eyes continues and to be fair, who wouldn’t want to get their pipe smoked with the rarity that is purple eyes?  And all done to the symphony of the usual blowjob noises: lips smacking, the occasional choke, slurping; you get the idea. Hux fucking does and he’s starting to get vocal about it too; moans, groans and harsh intakes of breath as if I’m hurting him. _I can’t fucking breathe._ From doing everything to nothing, now contributing moderately with genial thrusts into my mouth and aiming for the back of my throat, he still cradles the back of my head while I switch it up; relinquish him completely to alternate sucking each fleshy ball into my mouth with a suggestive little _pop_ every few seconds. One tiny hand clamped around the monster with worshipping caresses up and down, he has little to complain about; his cock is in my hand, his balls are in my mouth and he’s doing the absolute minimum where physical movement is concerned but I _know_ he’s going to make up for that later. He mightn’t reciprocate the oral tonight but that’s just part of the fantasy; he can wake me with some clit sucking tomorrow.

 

“I knew it was only a matter of time before the base slut fell at my feet.” It speaks! I thought all it could do was groan but true to my role, I don’t comment and dutifully keep my mouth busy with his delicate bits, eventually swapping back. Gently grazing my teeth along his shaft, his eyes close, his breaths start to get shallower and that’s how I know; he won’t come in my mouth, no, my pussy’s primed for that. I know it’s close, I just don’t know how close until, another icy order shatters the heating air. “Get up. On the desk. Now.” _Yes, General._ With my mouth released, I can feel the drying of stray baby-juice on my lips and I _know_ my eye make-up is running; I must look like a right fucking tramp. _Excellent._ Thankfully, I managed to hold my balance and fight my way back to my feet on the first attempt while he glowers at me from beside the desk that we specially sought out just for tonight (see what I mean about planning?); I can’t tell if he’s acting or regressing. Plonking my (barely) skirt covered behind onto the flat surface, he shimmies his way into between my legs and forces my back downwards so all I can see is the shitty ceiling.

 

“Spread your legs. I wish to inspect your contribution to the Empire.” _Ohhhhhh_ _yesssss, daddy._ The Little General is still standing tall and free of his confines through the crotch buttons I’d undone but the rest of the actual General is as pristine as if he wasn’t about to get laid. “These will be of some entertainment to me later.” He announces almost snidely as he strips my knickers down my legs and tucks them into his pocket; what he’s interested in is underneath them. Then, without warning, he latches onto one of my legs while the other holds my ribcage and he turns me over onto my stomach; out of sheer instinct, I put my knees under further pressure to boost myself so I can be inspected without harassment and sudden movements.

 

_“ **Fuck** **!**_ **”**

 

“I don't recall asking you to speak, Captain.” He hisses, after shoving two gloved fingers into my snatch and forcing them as deep as they'll go, like he’s rooting for my fucking cervix. Will I be able to keep quiet? We'll just have to wait and see but I fucking doubt it. He’s zealous and vigorous in the way his fingers intrude on me relentlessly, almost overwhelmingly so but I don’t really mind, it’s just a case of enjoying it. The thing is, when you’re exploring a fantasy for the first time, you can go one of two ways: One, you can be shy and reserved when you don’t really know what you’re doing and embarrassed. Or two, you can get waaaaaaay into it and almost be overpowering; guess which one he is. But, like I said, I really don’t mind ‘cause I know what that’s like; besides, he’s embodying it well and I’m relishing it as much as he is.

 

He’s watching me for reactions and I'm careful not to over-react or at least purposely make it look like I'm trying not to. He’s trying to exploit a weakness in the base slut, trying to see what limits he can push her to but he's not going to get much fun out of her if she caves, is he? Luckily, I have no intention of it. So with my arse in the air and my dick-hole swallowing and ejecting two spider-like fingers in rapid succession without complaint; I think I’m playing to the fantasy quite well. I need to remember that this is about playing to his dominant streak so my sexual satisfaction (just for tonight) means nothing to him; well, it means nothing to the General but it will to Hux when this is all done and dusted. And maybe there’s an ulterior motive here; I mean, when isn’t there when I’m involved?

 

No but seriously, he needs to up his psycho game. Granted, he blew a hole in Igub’s head and beat a rainbow of shite out of Mort (still don’t know why) but I need him to be _aggressive._ The com line is suspiciously quiet when normally Cole would be on it when he gets impatient which is _hella_ often but when he finally does and we have to ‘deliver’ Hux, well…. He’s gotta be ready. After the initial (what I can only describe as a) shitshow in the training room with the two lads knocking the fuck outta each other, he and Mort are not only closer but the sparring has kicked itself up a notch to sharpen each other when something **does** go down. Doesn’t hurt to be prepared, right? And I might as well admit it, he’s fitting in.

 

Pretending to visibly attempt to restrain my reactions (whimpers, moans, sighs, etc) while being worked like a fucking puppet from behind, the wood is chaffing my knees and the heels of my hands are aching from holding my weight but we haven’t even started yet so I’m just going to have to survive and live to tell about it. Not sure who I’d tell but y’know, leverage and all that. By the way; in case I didn’t stress it already, tonight is about acting; tonight, I’m literally just a hole. He knows that if he _actually_ treated me like this, I’d fuckin’ dance on ‘im. With my bottom, heavily glossed lip clamped hard under my top row of teeth and my eyes half-lidded, it’s getting harder to stay quiet at the merciless pounding of (now) three fingers assaulting my honey pot; he’s trying to stuff some knuckle up there as well but he’s trying to take on too much, too soon. Then suddenly, when it suits _him_ , he stops.

 

“An Imperial whore if ever I saw one.” As if to demean me further; he retracts his fingers, wipes them clean on my bare arse and subsequently slaps it like the rump of a prized animal; leaving a stinging handprint from the leather. “Who knows how many Stormtroopers have based themselves in you, you vile creature.” He reprimands with distaste before, and I’m not joking, launching a mouthful **right into my cunt** ; not that we needed it, I’m fucking soaking. I reacted with a little gasp (I didn’t expect him to fucking spit into me) and the glare I get is no one’s business; I dropped the ball on that one, that’s my bad. Like I said, he's big. His fingers are one thing and like I've said before: the Little General ain’t so little so when I feel one being replaced with the other, I can’t help myself.

 

 _“OhmyGod…..”_ That feeling of being stretched even further and my knees being pressed **hard** into the unforgiving and non-budging wooden frame of the desk is so erotically painful. He takes his time, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet ever so lightly to familiarise himself and selfishly indulge in this evening’s plaything. With a posture-destroying slope of my back and an overly possessive hold of my much smaller body, he’s off. I've just barely adjusted to the full sheath of his cock inside me but this isn’t about me and he lets me know that by taking off on a merciless barrage of savage thrusts into my Sarlacc pit.

 

I like it hard, I like it rough and I like it kinky so with every clout of his sack against my labia, I let him hear it in a melody of moans, whimpers and whines that he unknowingly embraces without even realizing it. It comes down to two things: One, he’s so used to the accompanying soundtrack of…. _this particular activity…._ that he doesn’t respond. Or two, he likes knowing that the base slut is his for the evening and enjoying the prowess of her General immensely. Either way, I’m not faking it, I never do; if you’re shit in bed, I’ll fucking tell you and you can be damn sure that if he was shit in bed (despite his almost virgin status to begin with) that he wouldn’t still be here. He’d be exiled to the boy’s wing with his right hand and a box of tissues.

 

 _“Yes….. Yes….. Ohhhhh yes…..”_ Regardless of the effort he’s putting into maintaining his staunch and regimented demeanour, he’s still ploughing me from behind with barely a hair out of place or a bead of sweat on his brow. One gloved, dominating hand is holding my back down into its almost aching slope and the other has an insistent clasp on one of my ass cheeks with his thumb waaaaaaay too close to my hole. _“Take me, General…. Use me….”_ He doesn’t need the encouragement but when I play a part, I fucking play it. His propels into me are vicious and honestly? I might not be able to feel my ass soon but my pussy can feel _everything_ and with every fuck in, I get closer and closer; as does he.

 

_“Please, General….. Fill my cunt….”_

_“You know, Captain, I would like to think I hadn’t just been in such a **filthy** mouth.”_

_“Breed me…. Breed me with your Imperial seed…. Please….”_

_“Good girl remembers her manners and you truly would look magnificent waddling about the base heavy with my sons.”_ It’s ridiculously sexist, it’s derogatory and it’s elitist but _fucking hell, do I love it! “But not to worry, dear Captain, I'll put a son in you yet.”_ He won’t ‘cause we did find that alternative to the condoms and so far, it’s working quite well. At least, I fucking think it is. _“I think you would like that.”_ He puffs as if the thoughts of fucking knocking me up are spurring him on and his impulsive swings are crushing me harder to the desk with only split-second windows of relief when he leans back to lash forward. _“Extra rations, extra consultations with medical staff, my admiring glances and mine only. I think keeping my bed warm while plump with my heirs would suit you.”_

 

 _“Cum in me!”_ Bear in mind, he’s been sucked off; he doesn’t have far to go.

_“Patience, Captain. The perfect offspring take time.”_ Moving his hand from my arse to the ponytail, he uses the grip on my hair to yank my head back even closer towards him (and it fucking hurts), that familiar sensation is him suckling on my neck awkwardly from behind and even in that, I can feel he’s nearly there. He’s trying to not show it for the sake of character but he’s faltering, his breath is quaking as he throws out exhales and drags in inhales; practically drunk on power and more passionate as he crawls closer and closer. _“I’ll keep you – **Agh!-** For my use…. And my use alone….!”_

 

_“General, please…. I can’t…. I can’t take it….! I need it!”_

**_“Good girl…. Swallow my seed…. Use it for what nature intended!”_ **

 

_“Yes, General…! Anything, General….!”_

**_“Grow my sons as you were born to do!”_ **

_“Please, sir…! I’m coming….!”_

**_“Do not think your satisfaction is of any consequence to me, Captain.”_** He growls, diabolic, in my ear as the slammings to my back entrance increase, rushing to the crescendo of an orgasm and the hold on my locks tighten. **_“You know what I want and you have already consented to give it to me.”_** Jesus Christ. After that _terrifying_ exchange, he starts to spiral. His knees are close to crumpling, his breath is spluttering, his eyes are flickering under the weight of pleasure and his teeth are gritted; some of the usual autonomous responses indicative of colliding with one’s limit. **_“Almost….”_** He snarls to the backdrop of my wanton keening as my pussy walls start contracting around his cock, to hold him in as deep as possible to fulfil my female purpose; to have his tip as close to my womb as possible so his swimmers don’t have far to go. As nature intended, as he rightly declared.

 

Everything hurts: My knees, my scalp, my cunt, my hip, my ass cheeks and I’m quickly developing a headache from the creaking of the desk. I can’t really see ‘cause my back is to him but (if he can’t feel it already) I can only assume his thighs are going to be sore tomorrow from the continuous blows to the desk he takes in the excitement of his thrusts. And speaking of thrusts…..

 

 ** _“Aagghh!! Aaagghhh!!!! AAGGHHH!!”_** The mating call of the alpha General. _One….. **“Yes….!”** Two…. **“Yes…..!!”** Three…. **“EMPIRE, YES!!!”**_ And that’s all, folks. Clinging my back to his chest, he noiselessly screams his way through his orgasm, buried in my neck and rides it out; I can just about feel the little trickle. Choking on his own breaths in a desperate attempt to regulate himself and return to his usual resolute self, the time he takes is minimal so I just wait to be dismissed. Eventually, he lifts himself (just about) from the flesh of my neck before an oxygen starved sneer and a withdrawal of himself from behind relieves me. _“Fix yourself and return to your duties.”_

 

 

* * *

 

 

One word: **_Hot_**. Like….. _Holy shit_. He collapses back onto the bed and pulls me with him, immediately lining his face with mine to claim my lips for the first time since before we started; we decided it would kill the mood to do it during and the chosen position didn’t facilitate it anyway. There’s a very slight pulling sensation from behind as one gloved hand cups my face and the other shimmies the tie out of my hair to pool the mass of black around us and I give it a quick shake out to fix it before he primps it to his liking. There is nothing more empowering and head-inflating than your man staring at you, entranced and transfixed even when you’re gross and sweaty but there he is, as always, flabbergasted. It’s like one of the first signals of affection that he learned to give (and I learned to receive) is the way he strokes my cheek with his thumb while he stares, deep into the depths of the lavender as if it’s the Holy Grail but it’s just me.

 

“What did I do to deserve you?”

 

“You blew up five planets, love; it was gonna bite you in the arse eventually.” That soft little huff of laughter masks discomfort as he sheds what’s left of the uniform (while lying on the bed) before helping me to do the same. We don’t really talk about Starkiller and I’m kicking myself for that comment, he didn’t deserve it. He still doesn’t know I’ve seen the speech from the firing of that awful fucking weapon and I don’t plan on telling him; unless it comes out spur-of-the-moment in an argument ‘cause it did make me a little bit of afraid of him. It flickered on the screen, illuminating my face and I thought _“I don’t wanna fuck with this guy”_ but guess what? I fucked with that guy. More than once. And I _liked it._ We’ve managed to writhe our way to the top of the bed, under the covers and melt back into each other so it’s nearly impossible to tell where one body begins and the other ends; fuck showers, I’ll change the sheets tomorrow ‘cause we’re just too fucking tired now. “At least that’s out of your system.”

 

“For now.” He partially agrees as a pale, spindly arm drapes around my shoulder and pulls me right to him so our torsos slot together; sealed with a kiss to the forehead and a relaxed sink into the pillows with my hand grasped genially in his, our new bedtime norm. “I honestly did not believe I had that in me.”

 

“Have what? A dominant streak? Most people have one, don’t worry about it.”

 

“I knew I had one…. I just thought it was different. I used it for command and to extract loyalty but I never thought it would extend to…. That.”

 

“Sex, sweetheart. That it would extend to sex. It’s not a dirty word, just a dirty thing to do; at least the way we do it is.” He’s in thinking mode again; that brain must be phenomenal, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised if it is. He wouldn’t’ve been where he was and as young as he is if it wasn’t and just by the way he and Draven bounce ideas off each other is something to watch; he’s a mastermind, pure and simple. He’s clueless about women but it seems it was one or the other, whore around or do your bit for the Empire; he chose the latter, to commit himself to the (deluded) cause and is only seeing the downside of it in the last month or so when he **could** have been whoring around. Better late than never, I guess.

 

“I never thought of combining them; command and sex.” He murmurs and I’m not sure if he's talking to himself or to me. “Perhaps.... Perhaps the interest was never there or I never saw the base staff in that light but....” He trails off again with a thoughtful crease setting into his brow as he scrutinises the ceiling for something; all I can do is wait. “Perhaps I was too obsessed, too focused on my goal to be distracted by something so petty and trivial-“

 

“Hey!” He can’t sit up fast enough to reassure me, like a lightning bolt to his arse and desperately scrambling to undo any offence but I’m just fishing for reactions.

 

“No, no! Not you, you are…..!”

 

“I was joking, relax. Back to your musing. I love seeing that mind of yours in motion.” Is it a first for me to be attracted to intelligence? Fuck yeah, it is. He gives me a dolefully doubtful look, apologetic but half afraid that I’m testing for a reaction which I was but I’m not now, I want him to keep going. Anyway, after a quick calculation, he settles back down and tries to reign in his train of thought while I listen, intrigued.

 

“Perhaps I felt I was above throwing my weight around for gain, using my influence and my rank to corner someone and pressure them into discomfort for my benefit.” These little observations come in bursts, he’ll get a sentence out then stare at nothing for a while until the next one comes along. Like now. “I doubt it would be too vain to hope that I would be better than my father in that respect.” Hold up now…. What’s this? He’s gone quiet again but I’m too nosy to let him stop there, not when he’s mentioned his old man.

 

“What uhh…. What d’you mean by that? Better than your father how?” It’s like he hasn’t heard me; he’s still staring at the ceiling but this is normal when his thoughts go into overdrive, he’s shifting through stuff and he’ll get to my answer in due course. In case you don’t know, his father is a man called Brendol Hux; now, I don’t know that ‘cause he told me, I know that ‘cause the prick is infamous and Hux isn’t exactly a common name nor is bright red a common haircolour. I know someone who was under him at the Academy (not like _that_ but if Hux Jnr’s almost whispered sentiments are anything to go by…..) and the man is a cunt if ever there was a cunt. I mean, teachers can be prats but if his son has borderline PTSD just by the fucking mention of him, he **MUST** be a cunt. And that cunt is no longer Commandant Cunt, he’s been promoted to terrorize his students as Admiral Cunt.

 

“He did that.” He answers quietly, still tuned in elsewhere and I can only assume I sound like a distant echo. “He was fond of using his standing and his prestige to bully others, to put them in unfair corners, revelled in it. My mother knew all about that, I’m sure. At least.... that’s what the others said; that he took a liking to her and used her fear to his advantage.” He can’t see my disturbed curiosity as he’s still zoned out and trained on the ceiling; this sounds _dark_.

 

“Others?” Do I want to know? I probably don’t but I can’t stop myself, I’m too nosy; too much for my own good.

 

“Nalesse, do you remember I told you before that my step-mother hated me?”

 

“Yeah....”

 

“Well, she hated me because she and my father were still married when I was conceived and born.” .......What? He just sounds dead and completely removed; like he’s in the depths of a memory and trying to recall a bad dream. “I was illegitimate, Nalesse. A bastard. The others were the servants my mother worked among; her friends and family. They told me that he had taken an unhealthy interest in her and.... she fell pregnant shortly after. When my step-mother found out, she made her life even more of a misery. Not only was she jealous that my father’s attentions had wandered elsewhere but that my mother had managed to conceive, however accidentally, while she remained barren. Needless to say, the illegitimate son was the final insult, she could have ignored a daughter if she produced a son but she failed.”

 

Talk about Imperial scandals! Holy fuck, they really like to portray decorum and dignity on one front but then this whole filthy underbelly of the Empirical supporters rears its ugly head, it’s insane; I can’t believe it never occurred to me. Knocking up the maid? I'm sure it’s not the first time and it won’t be the last time some domineering prick will pick on some poor girl who only wants to keep her job.

 

“So that's another thing we have in common.” I chime in and I can just about hear the scraping of the base of his skull on the pillow as his head slowly turns to take me in. “Both our fathers are scumbags.”

 

“Scum does not begin to describe what my father is.” He tells me solemnly as his melancholy deepens; we've both got daddy issues too, that’s for damn sure. _“He ripped me from the kitchen staff to be shipped off to the Academy, away from the people who loved me in favour of brainwashing me to his cause and turning me into a soldier.”_ Now he's just upsetting himself but no matter how or where I try to interject, he keeps going and working himself into a distraught, whispered frenzy as he goes; this is the mind behind Starkiller babbling like a child ‘cause his father didn’t love him.

 

 _“Sometimes I think the only reason a termination was not thrust upon her or I was not brushed under the rug was because the Empire needed children. He always said that. He always reminded himself of it, uttered it as a calming mechanism whenever I did something wrong; as if not to throttle me there and then for what I had done....”_ Jesus Christ, I know my parents hated me but _fuck._ I suppose its better to be abandoned than brainwashed. Or is it? I mean, I was just left to fend for myself at seven; if I hadn't met Balor, I’d be a sex slave for sure. Which is fine on my terms but it wouldn't be on my terms and I’d probably be dead within the year for shitty comments and disobedience; my specialty. C’mon, you think a sex slaver’s going to pass up on purple eyes and no periods? ‘Course fucking not.

 

And him.... He might actually have been a decent person; someone unbesmirched by what they'd been brainwashed to do and all for something as simple as being loved and accepted. No wonder he fucking blew up the homes of millions of happy families. Am I making excuses for what he did? Maybe but I’ve been intimate with enough people to know who the monsters are when it comes down to it; when you’re at the mercy of someone else. Cole, for example, is a fucking monster. Hux? ...... I don’t know.

 

 _“I was going to the Academy; no matter how hard I cried, begged, screamed.... I was very young at the time, two or three....”_ I can’t imagine being that cruel. I know, we’ve done plenty but like I've thrown back in his face several times: never to kids. That's just wrong, man. And somehow.... I think he's starting to get that. I think he’s beginning to feel guilty for all the kids that could've been him, separated from their parents when the Hosnian System blew; the orphanages started springing up a few days later.

 

“ _Millicent_....” I know that name, he’s said it before…. “ _He took her...._ ” Oh Jesus Christ, I remember. _“I will never forget that terrible sound….”_ Choked, traumatized, regressed…. That’s the best way I can describe him right now as he barrels towards a meltdown, still staring at the ceiling as if whatever horrific scene swirling in his head is being projected onto it and he can’t look away. With his voice quaking and his eyes trapped in child-like incomprehension as they begin to fill, there’s literally nothing I can do to interrupt before he drops that traumatizing memory. _“He snapped her neck before my very face when I refused to leave her…..”_ And that’s the straw that breaks the tauntaun’s back. His chest heaves to support dry sobs and I scramble onto it just in time before he full on breaks down.

 

“Hey….” Sandwiching those sharp cheeks in between my hands to drag his watery gaze to mine and bring him back to reality, he doesn’t fight me but he’s not a hundred percent with me either. “Hey… Listen to me. I need you to listen to what I’m about to say, okay?!” Hauling in an oxygen soaked breath to ease the strain in his lungs, he’s slowly coming back to me so just to cement it, I place my face right down to his, so close that I can feel the rattle of his breath in my nose and his usual comfort of latching his eyes with mine starts to calm him. _“I’m here…. It’s okay…..”_ His torso stills from the sudden panic and he relaxes almost completely at the kiss to his forehead but I’m still clung to him and I won’t let go ‘til this has abated completely.

 

 _“Listen….”_ Fixated on me, unwaveringly and desperately in need of comfort; my calmer gaze into his leaking one is enough to do that but the physicality is a bonus. _“You give me the coordinates. You tell me when, where and how and I **promise you** , I will put a blaster bolt in his head so big, there’ll be nothing left but a smoking, bloody stump of a neck.” _He gawps as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing, seemingly forgotten about his trauma but it’s still lurking in the background. It’s not that he thinks I’m lying, he just thinks it’s too good to be true; so much so that my tiny-ass body is seized by those shovel-hands and hauls me with him as he sits up (so fast I think I got sheet burn on my knees) to seal his mouth with mine again; the usual response when you offer to kill your squeeze’s abusive father. “Or I can cut a few things off and let gravity do the rest….. Lasts longer, more satisfying.”

 

 _“I do not deserve you.”_ He replies in a sob-dried gasp, kissing the hollow of my throat almost reverently which restricts my breath slightly in the most _delicious_ way. _“I just do not deserve you….”_ Maybe not but sometimes we do get things we don’t deserve, I’ve gotten plenty of chances; well, stolen rather than been given but that’s the nature of survival, isn’t it? Ask any of the greats and they’ll tell you if they were still alive, I’m sure. *Cough* **Scariff** *Cough*. In fact, I don’t think we’d be in ‘peace-time’ now if it wasn’t for chances being taken rather than given with the Resistance; I know Poe, that handsome bastard’s an opportunist. But peace-time doesn’t last forever and if the Order ever takes a chance, it might not be so peaceful anymore. And this guy is no different. If he hadn’t taken a chance and bailed on Cole, he might be dead now.

 

“Hey, I’ll practice on your father for when I’m ready for my own father!” I chirp brightly to bring the mood up a bit; for some reason, I hate seeing him upset. First his mother then his father and I was there to comfort him both times; even if comfort was just lying there with him, it didn’t cost me anything and _maybe_ I did feel good about myself after it. “You still stiff?”

 

“Somewhat.” He responds after a quick check and the question alone is an indication of what I want.

 

“Good, c’mere.” We’re done for the night but that doesn’t mean we can’t be close….. and I mean _really close._ I’ve been with a **lot** of people, male and female and while they varied in the sack, good and bad, how they were after was pretty much the same. The closest to romantic I can possibly pick out (that I can remember anyway) was Poe and he was friendly at best; there is not a single one that I could pinpoint and say “Yeah, they’re long term material”. I’m not looking for long term, it’s just not viable in this line of work; until now, at least. Is Hux my boyfriend? No. Does he know that? Probably not. But I have to say, he’s unbelievably different; so much so that he’s starting to change my way of thinking. I’ve never met someone who fits me so well (fucking literally, he slots right in like a jigsaw piece of a perfect size), that gels with me so precisely that I would be comfortable sleeping with their cock inside me. I love that little sigh when he lines himself up and pushes in, far more gently and considerately than he did earlier. Carefully, both arms wind round me and lower me onto the mattress on my side with our bottom halves moving the absolute minimum to keep us both connected.

 

“I meant it, y’know.” I remind him placidly from where I’ve settled with my cheek warming his collarbone. “I'll kill the cunt; you don’t even have to be there if you don’t want-“

 

“Oh I _want_ to be there.” He cuts me off darkly before pressing an awkward kiss to my temple. “I want to remind him of my torment and be the last thing he sees before you in all your magnificence pull that trigger.” And his wish will be my command.

“Aww, aren’t you sweet? I dunno though; d’you think I have it in me? That takes _a lot_ of aggression.” As well as getting better with humour, he’s also getting better at detecting sarcasm.

 

“Well, let me see.... You are insolent, brazen, arrogant, wicked and cruel.”

 

“You say that like it’s a bad thing!”

 

“Quite the contrary, it suits you.”

 

“Not sure everyone would agree with you on that.” A quirk of an eyebrow, a soft, purring hum and yet another lasting press of thrillingly cold lips to my jawline.

 

 _“Name them, angel.”_ He murmurs tiredly but terrifyingly sincere into my hair as sleep slowly claims him but it’s a promise he intends to keep. _“My trigger finger is itchy.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do review!


	12. Spies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Balor, Draven and Mort gather to share their thoughts on Hux without the overwhelming presence of Nalesse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus chapter! Enjoy!

“Can you see? Is he there? What’s he doing?”

 

“Just a sec, let me focus....” Pixels began to unravel themselves into a clearer picture in the scopes of the hunter’s binoculars as scarlet fingers adjusted them to the commands of clicks and beeps. The image that presented itself was a lone redhead sitting on a lawn chair in the shadow of the Brax’s loyal carriage (in the middle of the Derelkoos Desert), occasionally lifting a cigarra to his lips and staring off into nothing; not a very exciting sight. “He’s just sitting there, smoking.”

 

“Poor fucker. That bad?”

 

“A cigarra, ya tit.” Mort’s impatience with his limited vision became apparent with a grumble of frustration as he tried to peer around the sand dune which he, Draven and Balor hid behind. Balor took in the scene, unabashed, as his eyesight was a great deal better than the human's. “He's just sitting there with a cigarra and a cup of caf.”

 

“Where's Less? She there?”

 

“Still in bed, maybe. No sign of her.”

 

“Next question. Why the fuck am I not in bed? Why are we up at the fucking dawn, just to watch him?”

 

“Because, Mortimer, as I’ve explained already, we need to make sure he’s not only worthy of being here but worthy of even being in the same breathing space as Nalesse.”

 

“I second that.” Balor interjected grimly with intensity in his gaze, speaking for the first time since they gathered at the agreed time in the agreed place. “My little one isn’t herself and I _know_ he's the reason.”

 

“His body clock is Imperial.” Draven continued on in silent agreement of Balor’s sentiments. “He's used to being up at the dawn, Less isn’t so it’s the only time we can observe him when she isn't around to distract him.”

 

“And what....” Mort began with fraying patience and prominent boredom. “D’you expect to learn by watching him smoke a fucking cigarra? That we’ve seen him do a hundred fucking times already?” Draven’s answer was not immediate.

 

“I don't know.” He admitted crisply, still clutching the binoculars to his eyes while Mort remained somewhat blind with the distance between them and Hux. “What I do know is that we all saw him splatter Igub’s brain all over the fucking dance floor in the Outlander just for looking at her.”

 

“We weren’t the only ones to see that.” Balor reasoned evenly as he watched without the aid of a gadget the umpteenth suckle of the cigarra that the human took. “How we haven’t had Cole down on us like a ton of fucking permacrete is beyond me; that cunt has eyes everywhere.”

 

“Yeah but those eyes don’t know what he looks like.”

 

“I doubt Cole is going to send minions to look for someone and not tell them what he looks like, Mort. I’m assuming he has significantly more brain cells than you do.” Big and all as Mort was, Draven was bigger with no difficulty whatsoever in restraining the human with a single hand from snatching the lenses while the other held them in place with a few scatterings of sand being kicked up by the tussle.

 

“Fuck off, Dray! Gimme the binoculars!”

 

“Shag off, they’re mine.”

 

“Will ya at least tell me what he’s fucking doing so?!”

 

“Jesus Christ, he’s sitting on the fucking lawn chair, smoking his fucking cigarra, drinking his fucking caf and now he’s eating fucking grapes!”

 

“Grapes? Dry bastard.”                                                     

 

“He’s obviously still stuck in Imperial ways.” Balor noted sedately, removed from the one-sided scuffle going on beside him. “He’s still obeying his military clock, protein is his priority in his meals, plenty of veg and no carbs…. His piss is probably clear from the amount of water he drinks….. Human piss is supposed to be clear, isn’t it?” Mort looked at him as if he’d suddenly sprouted another eye.

 

“The fuck should I know?”

 

“How did you even _survive_ the Academy?”

 

“I didn’t. I was kicked out after a few months; a healthy mixture of benders, hungover absences, crashed Ties and sexual harassment. How was it they put it…. Oh yeah: “A grossly pathetic specimen of the human species that we cannot and will not have associated with this establishment of education, discipline and Empirical values.” And they hated my accent. My mam almost dropped me in the Sarlacc herself.”

 

“I think I have a new fantasy; kicking your ass overboard into the Sarlacc.”

 

“C’mon, Dray, man; you know you love me.”

 

“Whatever strange interpretation you have of love, Mort, I’m staying the fuck out of it. Can we get back to this?”

 

“He _has_ changed though. Hux, I mean.” Balor ignored Mort’s deflation that a hope of praise had pumped in him, the human often craved it but was usually disappointed. “When left to his own devices, he seems to revert back to his old ways but when he’s with us, he eats and drinks like we do. And we can only assume what goes on behind closed doors.”

 

“Oh, I’ve heard it. It’s not restrained, reserved and purely for procreation like they preach at the Academy.”

 

“I’m going to tell myself that you don’t sit outside your sister’s room and listen to her having sex.”

 

“Pfft, whatever helps you sleep.”

 

“ _Please….”_ Draven lowered the binoculars to implore his alien colleague and put Mort out of his eyeline. “ _Talk to me so I don’t have to listen to him.”_

 

“Romance isn’t dead.” The cyclops chipped in to the Devaronian’s overwhelming relief. “The Imperials can claim monogamy all they want and relations for the sake of begetting children but I think it’s common knowledge they aren’t all holier than thou.” His only eye focused on the unassuming male below, sitting in the shade and in the midst of his morning routine but blissfully unaware of the gathering to scrutinize him. “He hasn’t ventured once; he could have but he hasn’t. She’s in his sights constantly, he’s killed for her, I’ve seen them holding hands and I don’t think he’s spent one full night in our wing…. Not to mention what he did to Mort in the training room, that was hilarious.” Was it a little bit painful for him to watch the little girl who had freed him from the clutches of slavery grow into a woman with a partner of her own? Perhaps but it certainly softened the blow that said partner practically worshipped her but she would always be Balor’s little one. “Let’s call a spade a spade: He’s weak for her.”

 

“Has anyone else noticed they've both been stinking of herbs in the last few days?” Mort’s seemingly unrelated contribution to the conversation made the others stop and round on him with curiosity; it seemed it hadn't gone quite as undetected as the ‘couple’ had hoped. “Okay, good, I’m not crazy.”

 

“Aaaaaanywaaaay.” Balor brushed over Mort’s random but valid point to steer the conversation back to its original topic: Hux. “There’s something different about this time; no one’s lasted like this before and no one’s hung around-“

 

“I don’t think he has much choice, we have his balls in a vice.”

 

“You know what I mean. There’s ways of severing ties, she wouldn’t _make_ him sleep with her and if she was bored, he wouldn’t be able to stop her venturing. None of that’s happened. I’ve seen them kissing in the corridor and it’s…. not the usual. It’s not always face-eating, it might just be a random peck here and there but…. I dunno, Draven knows these things better than me.”

 

“How does that fit into the Imperial thing? Or does it?”

 

“It does.” Mort chimed in with something constructive for once. “He smokes ‘cause that’s what Imperial men do whether they enjoy it or not. They drink socially ‘cause that’s what Imperial men do, it builds alliances hence why he drinks with us. They indulge socially which is why he eats crap with us then blows his share of a job at a food market to simulate Imperial-standard meals on his own.” Mildly impressed, Draven and Balor exchanged a glance but Mort wasn’t finished. “Hardcore Imperial men are sexist cunts, the old-school fuckers think wives are for babies and mistresses are for fucking; not sure where he stands on that.”

 

“Think he’s married?”

 

“Dunno….. He could be, it’d be weird if he wasn’t. He’s thirty-five, that’s considered old for a man to be single but if he is…. That makes more sense than not.”

 

“Bal, I’m amazed. Mort actually knows stuff.”

 

“Shove it up your hole, Dray.”

 

“Ignore him. Why does it make more sense than not?”

 

“Well, if you’re married to someone who your fucking parents choose for you, you mightn’t even like ‘em, yeah?”

 

“Yeah….”

“Fair enough.”

 

“Well…. If that’s the case and he meets someone he actually likes, he’s gonna treat her different, ain’t he? He’s gonna treat her like he should treat his wife, like he actually wants to keep her rather than being tied to some miserable bitch for the rest of his life. He’s been taught his wife is for one thing and you don’t need to like her, it’s like their entire view of marriage is fucking skewed; a wife is a wife by title, not by definition.”

 

“That’s…. That’s a very good point, actually.”

 

“You sound surprised.”

 

“Believe me, Mort, I’m surprised.”

 

“So how does Less come into it?” Another glance into the lenses yielded nothing different in the heating morning sun; the redhead munched on some other piece of over-priced fruit, took a drag from his cigarra and supped from the caf but overall, the scene was unchanged.

 

“Maybe he’s not all Imperial.” Mort suggested while he waited for his turn with the binoculars. “If anyone can change someone, even if it’s just one aspect of them, it’s Less. Besides, if he _is_ married, that still makes sense with what I said. She’s a mistress and mistresses are for fucking which is what they do.”

 

“That doesn’t explain the random strokes of affection they think we don’t see.”

 

“It goes back to what I said about preferring someone you find yourself over who your parents give you. Maybe he’s not all Imperial and he actually _likes_ her. I mean, who wouldn’t, she’s fucking stunning.”

 

“Mort, it’s nice when you come out with useable information but when you come out with creepy shit like that, it takes away from whatever you’ve just said. That’s your fucking sister, we shouldn’t have to remind you. Here, take the binoculars.” Mort relished his turn while Draven shuffled back next to Balor and plonked his head into his giant ruby-red hands in an effort to cope with the exhaustion of an early morning excursion.

 

“Tell us more about the Academy.” Balor decided to tread on neutral ground over the drumming of his hand repeatedly patting Draven’s back in a comforting sort of consideration. It was a natural curiosity; not many people successfully defected from an Imperial academy and even fewer were ejected forcefully to keep numbers as sympathy for a new Empire began to lessen in the galaxy.

 

“Not much to tell, don’t remember most of it.” Mort murmured but his concentration was elsewhere; more specifically on the ex-General below. “Imperial girls are frigid bitches and there weren’t many of ‘em; the ones that w **ere** there were waiting for marriage, hence all the harassment allegations.”

 

“Riiiiiiiiiight. ‘Allegations’.”

 

“You wouldn’t last there either so fuck you. Hang on, what’s he doing?” Draven remained face-down in the sand but Balor straightened his back to see over the dune and sure enough, Hux’s position had changed.

 

“Is he looking at his com?”

 

“Yeah…. What’s he doing with it though?”

 

“Dunno, the screen is facing him….. He’s scrolling through something. Anyway, what about Hux Senior?”

 

“I am convinced and no one can convince me otherwise-“ Mort began with resolution though his attention remained on the recent minor turn of events; Hux’s thumb scrolled the screen though Mort couldn't see point of interest. “That the man was born a cock and grew around it. I’m serious, a Tarkin fucking fan-boy.”

 

“Sounds like a prize prick.”

 

“Preachin’ to the choir, son. I spent enough hours with that screwy son of a bitch, I’m amazed Hux hasn’t had fucking counselling.”

 

“Maybe he has.”

 

“My fuck. An Imperial man isn’t an Imperial man if he doesn’t bottle his shit up and take it out of those beneath him; I’ve fucking seen it and you can be damn sure he hasn’t spoken about it to anyone. Did I tell you he asked me for a loan of the cruiser?”

 

“The cruiser? For fucking what?”

 

“He….. wants to take her out.”

 

“You jealous?”

 

“Fuck a cactus, Bal.”

 

“Okay, that was a joke. Take her out? Where? Like a date?”

 

“Yeah, but I had to explain no one calls it “courtship” anymore. Dunno, he hasn’t asked her yet.”

 

“Tell me he didn’t call it that. Think she’ll go? She’s not one for _dating._ ”

 

“Oh he did and it was fucking _hilarious._ Anyway, yeah, he’s asking her out; proper date, like. Ehh…. It’s hard to know. She might; free food, like.”

 

“Well, fuck me sideways.”

 

“Nah thanks, ya ugly ballsack.”

 

“You little shit!”

 

“See? Not so nice, is it?” With Draven still semi-unconscious and face down in the sand, Balor and Mort were free to watch the redhead while the spike in his activity seemed to die down once again. With his cigarra gone, his fruit eaten and his caf drank, he seemed content to simply scroll on his com; a sight Balor and Mort soon grew unappreciative of so their speculations continued. “He’s hard to pin down.” Mort murmured, still watching every micromovement but not as entranced as he once was. “It’s hard to tell what way he’s swaying; he hasn’t given any indication if he intends to stay or not or if he wants to leave once Cole is done. He’s giving mixed signals on the Imperial thing, I don’t think he even knows what he wants at this stage.”

 

“Well…. He’s being ridden every night of the week, I’m assuming….” Balor began thoughtfully as he observed the redhead comb through his com, his features marred by confusion; the content must have been alien to him. “He’s safe, he has a steady income and, we might as well say it, he’s fitting it. Why would he jeopardize that for going out on his own when he’s going to be set upon immediately?”

 

“And it’s more than riding, you said that yourself.” Mort replied from behind the binoculars and didn’t take much notice when Hux glanced behind him until….. “Fuck! Less!” The human and alien alike watched as the scene changed dramatically; as the single became a couple and the com was hastily stored into a pocket. “Fuck, the last time she was up this early, she had a court date.” Draven tried to rise but did so too quickly and ended up scattering sand as he tried to snatch back the binoculars; Mort was prepared. Sure enough, there she was in all her raven locked glory. Clad (barely) in silk with one predatory target in sight, she approached the solitary male who restored his posture to its usual pristine condition and accepted the female into his lap.

 

“What’s happening?!” Draven demanded, giving up on trying to wrangle the binoculars back and trying to see around the dune as he had condemned Mort to do at the beginning of the venture. 

 

“They’re eating each other’s faces.”

 

“Fucks sake, Mort; I’m serious!”

 

“No, that’s exactly what they’re doing.” Balor commented dryly at the grip that wound itself around their captain, holding her in their usual morning embrace. “Well…. Sort of. Maybe not that aggressive.” Forehead to forehead, arms and torsos intertwined, the greeting kiss subsided into genial pecks while unheard words were murmured to each other; a frustrating observation for the crew behind the mound of sand.

 

“Fuck, he’s huge, isn’t he? How hasn’t he crushed her?”

 

“I think a better question is: how hasn’t she crushed him?” Balor responded to Mort while Draven remained painfully ignorant. “She’s not exactly a gentle creature, our Less. And that poor bastard was a nervous wreck when she got a hold of him.”

 

“That’ll happen when you get a hard on from being waterboarded.”

 

“……What?”

 

“Nothing. Christ look at them…. Just look at them…. Wouldn’t they have the most beautiful babies?”

 

“What did we say about thinking about your sister’s vagina? We’ll get you help if you want it.”

 

“Wanting and needing are two different things, Dray.”

 

“Mort, there are times when I think that if you were to have a lobotomy that it would actually improve your mental state. Now is one of those times, you voyeuristic wankstain.”

 

“Would you two shut the fuck up? I’m trying to hear what they’re saying.”

 

“Can you, Bal?”

 

“I thought I might be able to but no, not at the moment.” There was nothing to hear as lips melded back into each other while one arm encircled her waist and the opposite hand gripped her creamy thigh; the gifted silk robe didn’t cover much, just the way they liked it.

 

“I swear to God, if they start riding on that chair, I’m fucking burning it.”

 

“Yeah, well, get your matches ready and avert your eyes, lads. We’re stuck here for a while.”

 

“Mort. Give me the fucking binoculars or I’m telling Less.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do review. :)


	13. Disclaimer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please read on.

So I've decided to discontinue Precious Cargo in its current form. I feel it's just not working the way it should and even though I've gotten twelve chapters out of it, it still doesn't flow right and I have a sneaking suspicion that has something to do with the first person. I've found that I can't express Nalesse the way I want to without using words that a person of her education and intellect wouldn't use. There are a number of other reasons but that was the main one; the flow of it. 

 

Now, the thing about it is: I love Precious Cargo, I don't know how many of you do and don't BUT I will be taking the story in a different direction in another story. This time, Nalesse will be in the third person, the timeline will be different and a few other bits and pieces. It will be set before the blow of Starkiller and will progress towards it so Hux and Nalesse will meet under different circumstances and will essentially have a different development to their relationship in a way that I (personally, at least) have never seen in another fic. I'll try to maintain the humour as best I can and, you never know, it might work better than it did before. 

 

So if you're still interested, keep an eye out for a fic called **The Secret Life of Armitage Hux.**

 

Thanks to all who subscribed, Kudos'd and bookmarked; you helped me keep writing it and ultimately made me want to keep it going. 

 

To those who were enjoying it the way it was, I'm sorry but I do hope that in the new fic, you'll find the same things you loved about this one. And you never know, I might just come back and do some more. 

 

Hope to see you all at The Secret Life of Armitage Hux!

 

HHS.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm Irish, from the largest county which is called Cork. I modeled Nalesse's speech pattern on my own, hence all the cursing and filth. Her accent is also similar and since there's no one in the Star Wars universe with an Irish accent as such, there's no one to compare her to. The clip below is Nalesse and Mort having an actual conversation (not really, just for accents). xD
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Oh0sRQqUrrA
> 
> \----------------------------------------------------------
> 
> Soundtracks inspiring this fic: Guardians of the Galaxy, Pirates of the Caribbean, Suicide Squad, The Longest Yard. 
> 
> Individual songs: Angel of Small Death & the Codeine Scene (Hozier), Love Game (Lady Gaga), Hit Me Like a Man (Pretty Reckless), Wild Ones (Sia & Flo Rida), Sour Cherry (The Kills), Carousel (Melanie Martinez), Mimimi (Serebro), Born to Die (Lana Del Rey), Gunpowder and Lead (Miranda Lambert), Bottoms Up (Brantley Gilbert, Crazy Little Thing Called Love (Queen), I Put a Spell on You (Screamin' Jay Hawkins), Go (Santogold), Hella Good (No Doubt), I'm a Diva (Nickolay Mondaine), Lean Back (Terror Squad), A Sorta Fairytale (Tori Amos), Can't Touch It (Ricki Lee), Only Love Can Hurt Like This (Paloma Faith), You Shook Me All Night Long (AC/DC), Thunderstruck (AC/DC), Someone New (Hozier), Cheap Thrills (Sia), Ex's and Oh's (Elle King). We Will Rock You (Queen), Somebody to Love (Queen), Killer Queen (Queen), More to be added!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Secret Life of Armitage Hux](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11063049) by [Harrishawksuperiour](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harrishawksuperiour/pseuds/Harrishawksuperiour)




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